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For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.
Chapter VII: 1 ~ 15 December 2002
Sunday, December 1, 2002: 05:46 (GMT)
Deimos, Engineering studies base, transient quarters:
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Edward Nigma sat back from the keyboard in his quarters, studying what he'd written. He wasn't entirely pleased with it; it still missed something; he wasn't sure what, though. Perhaps it was referring to his niece formally, as 'Her Imperial Highness'…
To: HIH Martha I
From: Edward Nigma
Date: 1 December 2002
Subject: Site examinations .09
Ma'am,
Deimos is the second-to-last stop before I return to Earth. I will proceed to Phobos after this; they are building a series of docks that can be pressurized in sections of up to one hundred meters. While this will be useful to us, I believe it is a bit premature. However, I shall retain an open mind.
In regards to LSB engineering, I must give them an overall endorsement. While their engineering is solid, they are still inexperienced and missed a few tricks experience teaches. They have also, per your request, placed a local attorney on retainer, and purchased an accounting software package. I have recommended that they hire a local bookkeeper for a weekly examination and update of their books, as Ms. Rivers' only accounting experience is at school with her personal finances, and the two men show absolutely no interest.
Their innovation is one of those 'why didn't I think of that' occurrences. They are utilizing off-the-shelf parts and their plotted trial course is one that will angle below the plane of the ecliptic to avoid most of the asteroid belt. It will then pause to examine its position before proceeding to the next waypoint in its overall course track.
LSB is the last firm I need to examine here, I will be discussing your concerns with the general administration here as I did with the administrations of Archimedes and Copernicus craters before my return to Earth.
Respectfully submitted,
Edward Nigma
Edward read it over one last time before clicking 'Encrypt and Send' and pulling up another email from his 'Drafts' folder.
To: Aurora (school)
CC: Emma (school)
From: Edward Nigma
Date: 1 December 2002
Subject: Travel plans
Hello, dearest ones,
I am currently at Deimos, the smaller, outer moon of Mars (the fourth planet). I plan to make a brief stop at Phobos (the larger, inner moon), to examine some things before taking a flight back to the L-1 station before I reach Earth. I should be in London to greet you as you get off the school train, and then escort you back to the States and to Gotham City.
I look forward to seeing the both of you again, and being able to catch up on what has been happening. Emma, I understand your studies have been progressing well, I am very pleased.
Until we are re-united,
Edward
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Sunday, December 1, 2002: 05:51 (GMT)
Terra, London, PRC embassy:
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("Comrade Dai is insane, it is a suicide mission,") she whispered to herself in horror as she studied the emailed orders on her screen. With a quick command, she printed the short (two page) email and folded it lengthwise, sliding it into her sleeve. She would sound out the Comrade General on her run.
Military forces the world over have certain customs and habits that they follow. One of these is the morning run. Comrade Corporal Chai formed up with the others, did her morning stretches and took off, running with them through London along with other guard forces for neighboring Embassies through London's large number of parks. Slowly, she dropped back until she was near the Comrade General, asking, ("May I run with you, Comrade General?") in Mandarin.
("Certainly, Comrade. It is a beautiful day for a run, is it not?")
("It is indeed, Comrade.") She ran with him, trying to keep an eye out for their usual escort of an MI-5 monitoring van to capture their conversations. She did see their usual escort runner of a burly, flag tattooed American; he always seemed to wear a different colored bandana on his head as a sweat rag. New today was a tall, athletic blonde with two dogs on leashes, however she didn't see the usual blue van. She decided to risk it, and asked, ("Comrade General, I have a confession to make. I am not whom I appear to be.")
He grunted, ("Who are you, then, Comrade?")
("MSS,") she replied, handing him a small brass disk. He examined this; then passed it back. ("I presume there is a reason for your telling me this, Comrade?")
("There is, Comrade. Have you received new orders from Beijing? I have.")
("No, I have not. Can you share these orders?")
("Not officially,") she replied, sliding the printout from her sleeve and passing it over. ("You have not seen these, General.")
("I have no idea what you're talking about, Corporal,") he said as he started to read. She tugged on his sleeve once; he looked up to avoid an obstacle as he ran and read at the same time. He read it through twice, and then handed them back to her. He thought for a moment; then asked, ("Your thoughts?")
("Officially? I serve the will of the People, Comrade General.")
("As do I. Unofficially?")
("Unofficially? Aside from being a suicide mission, it will destroy our intelligence networks here, hazard the lives of all Asians here, as they will all be grouped as 'Chinese' by lynch mobs, and yes, we must not forget the strong possibility of nuclear war.")
("Agreed,") he said. They ran for several minutes, both considering the possibilities, then he sighed, ("What I am about to suggest is state treason, Comrade.")
("Asking the British for assistance? Then I shall be next to you on the gallows, Comrade; and now that we have that out of the way, your thoughts?")
("I am not certain; I shall need to consider this carefully. However, being able to leave the Embassy would be useful.")
("Allow me, then, General. Shortly a few of your staffers will fall ill, and need long-term hospitalization. As a caring commanding officer…")
("The spies on my staff, I assume,") and she nodded. ("Their hospital rooms will need guarding, of course,") she added.
("Of course,") he replied. ("The embassy doctor?")
("I shall speak to him,") she replied. She extracted the email again, ("Have you a pen?")
("Of course,") he said as he slowed to stop next to a postbox to write on, turning to make eye contact with the burly American, who bent down to tie his shoes. She commented as she wrote, ("Properly, this should be in lipstick, according to the Bond movies.") There was a chuckle from the American as she wrote on the back of the printout, 'MI-5 Help Us' in Pinyin, then crumpled it loosely and made a very poor shot at the nearby waste bin. "Oh, I am sorry!" she said in English.
"No problem, miss, I'll get it," the burly American said. "We have to keep our parks neat." He scooped it up and very obviously dropped it in. "There, all nice and tidy. Have a good day, miss."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, turning to resume her run.
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Sunday, December 1, 2002: 08:59 (GMT)
Terra, London, US Embassy:
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"Holy fucking crap," the CIA head of station said, looking up. Due to the warm relations with the British, the US Embassy and the attached FBI and CIA stations were for both agents starting and ending their careers. She looked at the now neatly uniformed US Navy SEAL that had brought her the printout. "How accurate do you think this is?"
"Well, they were both wearing track suits with a big red 'PLA' on the back, and they were conversing in Mandarin, they knew I was there, they took no steps to hide their conversation, and they made fuckin' eye contact with me. In addition, it's regarding Wayne and the troubles they've had with her, and the email's from a known high-ranking MSS type in Beijing. If it's disinformation, they've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble. I think it's a no-shit 'we need help' message from the Chinese embassy that they don't want Beijing knowing about."
"Concur," the head of station said. "Holy shit. These Chinese bastards are fucking insane."
"And they've got nukes," the senior chief said. "Orders?"
"Keep up on your runs, of course, and I'll see if any Chinese are admitted to area hospitals. I'm going to secure-fax this back to Langley, and if you don't mind seeing an MI-5 friend of mine for lunch?"
"Who's buying?"
"My word," James Evans, the MI-5 senior agent said as he read the photocopied email. "We knew of course that they had a certain … disconnect with reality, but this?" He glanced at the burly senior chief, then up at the waiter who had materialized to refill their water glasses.
Chief Gibbons waited until the waiter left; then asked, "Why wasn't the usual van there?"
"Their tyre had an unfortunate encounter with a nail," Mr. Evans replied. "By the time it was repaired, the run was over. I agree it would have been better to have their conversation on tape, but I do appreciate your transcript." He reached into his case, handing over a packaged cloth, "If you would be so kind as to wear this tomorrow, it should pass the appropriate message." The chief looked down at the large Union Jack bandanna and smiled.
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Sunday, December 1, 2002: 19:18 (GMT)
Terra, London, Weasley flat:
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Percy Weasley looked at his wife in all but name, holding a glass of wine in his hands. "I still don't know why I was invited. It had moments of sheer boredom and … " he took a sip as he sat on their dilapidated couch. "Wayne would confer with her partners, then make a proposal, the other side would group together to consider it, and then make a counter-offer. They started at €15 a share, and it just kept going higher and higher, and then Wayne must have made a hand signal. I was sitting between Callista Vector and Morton, Arthur Morton that is, and they both pulled out those muggle mobile fellytones and started to talk while Wayne made a short speech." He took a deeper, longer swallow of wine, "That was at € 825 a share, up … "
Penelope said, "That's over fifty times the original share price." She tugged at his sleeve, "Come along, we're invited to Harry and Ginny's. Go shower and change into fresh robes. I've a sober-up potion for you."
"Percy! Come in old man, have a seat! I have a wine that I think you'll enjoy," Harry said as he welcomed them into their Hogwarts flat. He took their traveling cloaks, Dobby appeared with a 'pop' to receive them, nodded to Percy and Penelope, then popped out. Harry raised his own wineglass, "Apple juice, by the by. I think you know Arthur Morton and Charlie Adams, the ladies are in the kitchen." Hands were shaken as Penelope excused herself to the kitchen.
"Penny!" Ginny called; Sprink, Callista and Mattie turned as she came in. Welcoming hugs were given and received, and Penny accepted a glass of wine. "I really must thank you for the invitation, Ginny, although I don't know when we can reciprocate…"
"An invitation to the wedding should suffice," Ginny replied with a smile.
"As to that, Percy is hesitant, he wants to do it right…"
"Ooh, a traditional Bonding? You're so lucky…" Sprink said.
"As to that," Mattie said, "I believe our friend Dolores Jane Umbridge has come up."
"Oh, what a mood killer," Ginny said. "Why did you bring her up?"
"She came up at the last Slytherin house meeting," Callista said. "She continues to wear our house colours, despite being thrown out of the house. She was an item on the agenda, along with some legislation she's proposing. She's still on the 'blood purity' issue, but wants to restrict half-bloods and muggleborns."
"I hadn't heard of that," Ginny mused, sipping her wine.
"No reason you should, it's from the Slytherin network," Mattie said. "Her proposal would force a half-blood or muggle-born to marry a pureblood, and just incidentally transfer all property to that pureblood."
"With a very loose definition of 'half-blood' and 'muggle-born', and a very strict one of 'pureblood'," Sprink said. "'Cause my mum married a muggle-born, I'm a 'half-blood', even though I'm a Black."
Mattie took a sip from her glass, "If you look at her definitions, anyone that hasn't had English wizarding blood within the last three generations is a half-blood or worse. That means that my father, who goes through a Scottish wizarding bloodline, and my mother, through a French line, don't qualify. Since her bloc in the Wizangamot is from English wizarding stock, and it's financial in nature, I think this bill is aimed at me, although the spy wasn't able to get a list of Umbridge's targets." She took another sip, "If she thinks for one second that she's going to break up Arthur and I…"
"That would also affect Percy and I," Penelope said.
"And I," Callista said. "I'm still looking for a decent man, an open-minded muggle would do. Aurora snagged your uncle, but since they're not married yet, and she's a half blood and he's a muggle, with an off-world child, they would be broken up and she would be forced into a marriage with a proper pureblood."
"Harry and I," Ginny said. "Even though I'm a Weasley, Harry's mum was muggleborn. So who's backing this?"
"Some of the old-line pureblood houses that control key committees on the Wizengamot," Callista replied. "It's being sold as a 'Defense of wizard-kind' bill. You know there's no such thing as a wizarding divorce, and they see this as a way to reinforce the wizarding genome and gain economic and political power. Umbridge is driving this through the Ministry and the Wizengamot."
"Hmph," Mattie snorted. "Well, when Percy gets around to mentioning it, I'll be surprised, sign off his debt obligation when he gets me a copy, preferably with a list of her targets." She looked at the tall, blonde Ravenclaw, "Penny, I have some things in mind that you two could do for me. Percy's proven himself to me; the question is where you two want to go, to stay at the Ministry or something else."
"You mean … Minister?" she gasped.
"Why would you want that job?" Mattie snorted. "No, politicians come and go, but the permanent senior undersecretaries are the ones that actually run a Westminster-style government, and that's Umbridge's current job. I did a bit of studying, the Minister for Magic was originally 'The King's Wizard', and his staff simply mushroomed, like all government agencies do, into the current Ministry. I'm already seeing this in my own Empire, something I'll need to stomp on a bit." Penny blushed; she had forgotten for a moment that the young woman leaning against the kitchen counter was a multibillionaire and Queen of the Terran Empire. She continued, "No, if he wants to stretch a bit, there are a couple of star systems that I could use a capable administrator."
"Like Harry's Aunt Petunia," Ginny said.
"Somewhat. I got good vibes off her, and I doubt Harry would have recommended her just because they're related."
"You've mentioned Remus, now that he's finally gotten off his arse and proposed to 'Dora," Sprink said.
"He's a great guy and a great teacher, and I like them as a couple," Mattie agreed. "You didn't have a problem with lycanthropy when we were out-system, which leads me to believe he wouldn't. I think he just lacks self-confidence, which your sister has in spades."
"True," Sprink agreed with a small laugh as Dobby popped in with fresh glasses. "Dinner is served, Mister Harry's Miss Weezy."
"I would like to know what I'm doing here," Arthur said, taking a small sip of his wine.
"You're a couple," Harry replied. "Besides, this is an escape from homework. It's not so far in my past that I can forget doing it."
"Yes, but other than the last two years you relied a great deal on Miss Granger," Percy said, taking a sip of wine. He rolled it around his mouth; then swallowed. "My dear boy, I need to teach you about wines."
"That would be a good export for some of the planets in the Empire," Charlie said. "They're kind of a long-lead time thing, though. Not like beer or mead."
"My boy, you must think long-term," Percy said. "Yes, you must wait a few years for the vines to grow to the point where they can produce, but on the other hand, some vineyards are centuries old. The ones in France and the Malfoy vines are good examples of that. I should speak to Narcissa about those …"
"That would make a nice addition to Malfoy Gardens," Harry said. "I hadn't thought of that, next I see her I'll ask her to owl you; thank you." He took a sip of his apple juice, "Mattie is working a deal of some kind; I would not be surprised that she has another job in mind for the two of you. Pay attention to what Penny talks about tonight." He shifted in his 'papa-san' chair, "By the by, Arthur, in speaking of homework, I received, by accident I'm sure, a page of sketches stapled on the back of your essay on cutting curses. Why are you looking at signet rings and coats-of-arms?"
"We're working on the succession, given the Chinese keep trying to take Mattie out, we wanted to have something in hand and approved by the regency council," he replied. "For that reason she's banking her eggs and I've been banking my sperm," he continued. "If they get lucky, we've both told Mr. and Mrs. Kent, when they were here for the birth of their daughter, that Mattie or I can have the kids, I've written my parents and told Julie and Bill. Mattie's arranged for half a dozen artificial wombs to be picked up for us. Finally, Mattie's designated Ms. Black, Bellatrix that is, that she'd like her as the personal physician."
"I still have doubts about her," Percy said.
Harry nodded, "She knows that a lot of people do, she let me look at her mind. I believe her that she was Imperio'd by Riddle, and while she believes in blood purity, she's also scientific enough to value a diverse gene stock. She just had that … over layer of bigotry, which she is trying to get around. Still, she's working here while she's finishing up her college and sitting her licensing, and the purebloods like to have her available. However, that doesn't explain the rings?"
"The rings are because I like designing jewelry and it's a doodle when my mind is blank. We're working out a mechanism for our sons and daughters; we figure each of them would have an equal shot," Arthur replied.
"Including any adoptive children?" Percy asked.
"Of course, they don't have any choice as to who their birth parents are. For genetic diversity we'd want the kids to marry outside the royal house, but the only reason I can think of to exclude one is for mental instability or damage. Weren't there some royals in history that were inbred and rather …"
"Mentally unfit?" Percy asked. "The Habsburgs were famous for inbreeding; and that would apply to our current Purebloods as well, one reason for the declining birthrate. I'm somewhat surprised Harry and Ginny have only had two."
"We've talked about a few more; you know the Weasley genes…"
"Indeed, we breed like rabbits," Percy agreed.
Arthur snorted, "Well, the Morton line has its share of fertility, I have six brothers and sisters and a nephew already. What about Fred and George, and what's happened to Ron?"
"Ron is currently keeping a low profile and working for Molly in the catering business," Harry replied. "Gred and Forge are, well, they're Fred and George. I think Katie and Angelina want some kids but are a bit intimidated. They're the ones that are running the back rooms and the shops while those two invent. You know Charlie is dating Jessie Tickes, the clocksmith in Diagon Alley, and Bill and Fleur are in France, the last I heard…"
"So did you boys have a good conversation?" Ginny asked later.
"Yes, I worked on Percy a little bit, I'm sure Penny will do so as well," Harry replied as he rocked his daughter Molly. "Question, though, just how much money was involved in Mattie's latest little scheme?"
"Enough that I don't want to cross her," Ginny replied. "She drove the EADS stock price up some eight hundred Euros, which the French government was forced by their own laws to cover, and made a lot of their employees very, very rich overnight. They made some of that eighty billion back when the Germans, Russians and Italians, along with the Americans and the British bought sections of the company, but they took a financial hit, even though the jobs are guaranteed for three years." She shook her head, "And Umbitch is foolish enough to threaten her relationship with Morton?"
"Umbitch is going to be ground to a very, very fine powder. Hopefully she'll take that as a lesson, now that France no longer has an aerospace industry."
"Oh, they do, it's just not French-owned," Ginny said as her son Sirius came running into the room. She scooped him into her arms, "How's my little man? Are you ready for your bedtime story?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay," Ginny thought for a minute, "Once upon a time, there was an evil witch who wanted power…"
"Money and power," Harry added. "There was never enough for her, she always wanted more. She was a very greedy witch, whose name was Dolores…"
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 06:55 (GMT)
Terra, London, Imperial building:
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Toni Whitloe looked up from her paperwork when the Imperial Army clerk called "Staff Sergeant Whitloe? Down the hall, third right, please."
"Thank you, lance corporal," she replied, standing and tugging the (still unfamiliar) skirted uniform straight. She picked up the briefcase and put her purse on her left shoulder; and walked down the hall.
Tapping twice on the doorframe, she entered at the officer's wave, dropping her case and purse, and saluting, "Staff Sergeant Toni Whitloe, reporting as ordered, sir!"
The officer stood, returning the salute, "Captain Cartwright. You're looking good, Staff Sergeant, at ease. Have a seat; we'll go over your orders." They both sat, the Captain looking at her, "Feeling all right? No twinges or such? You were well shot up in Afghanistan, but it seems you've recovered. Any problems adjusting to female?"
"It's not instinctual, yet, sir, and I'm still … settling in, as it were. My mum and little sister were a great help in explaining some of the mysteries," Toni replied with a smile. "I'm ready to get back in the saddle, sir."
"Good." Cartwright pushed a folder of paperwork to her, "As you're prior service with the Fifth Paras, you go off on accelerated Basic to Corfu, but that's not until after the New Year starts. There's your paperwork for that, until then, we're looking to start up a new schools programme, the Imperial Cadet Corps. Similar to the British Army Cadet Force and the Yanks' J-ROTC, this is a programme for high school and on to college level. It is distinct in that it is entirely co-educational, and this is an Imperial Army programme."
"No Imperial Navy or Marines, sir?"
"No. The Imperial Army handles all 'shore-based' functions (he finger-quoted), which would include bases, messing, supply, and non-specialized training. That way all of our people start with the same training, so a ship's cook can pick up a rifle and know what his ship's Marines are doing if necessary. The Army handles planetary garrisons, including the attached Air Force and wet-navy functions, satellites, asteroid bases and such. The Imperial Navy and Marines get their personnel after they've passed through the Army's basic training for their own specialized training. That way we have the Imperial Army's Engineers build shipyards, docks, and so forth, the Navy and Marines take over on the dock side of the boarding tube." Captain Cartwright handed over another folder of paperwork, "Due to your injuries and prior service, you've been bumped a grade to Senior Sergeant, go down to Supply and get your uniforms straightened out."
'Yes, sir," Toni said. "I assume that I'm working with the Cadets?"
"Still a bit up in the air, but a strong possibility, which is why I want you to be familiar with them. A school would have a detachment of up to fifty cadets; then formed into companies, battalions, and so forth. There would be advances in promotion and placement, assuming the cadet decided to go off to Corfu for actual service. Even if they didn't, the program is viewed as beneficial. Any questions?"
Toni was looking through her orders, "Sir, I have a movement order to Corfu on the thirtieth. Is that through the new shuttle system to LEO?"
"I believe so, and then on to Athens. However, I think the Greeks still have only one puddle-jumper flight a day to Corfu, which is why the padding in the scheduling. When you get to Athens, give the 'Seven' office a ring so they know you're there. Anything else?"
"No, sir," she said as she stood and saluted. He stood, returning her salute; then offered his hand, "Good luck, Senior Sergeant, and Happy Christmas."
"Excuse me," and Toni looked up. A bloke was standing there, holding a take-away cup of coffee and a folder of paperwork. "Due to the rain, all the tables are taken. May I join you?"
"Please do," she replied, and thunder boomed. She gathered up her scattered file folders, putting them in her case as he took a seat. She saw a wedding ring on his finger as he offered his hand; "Donaldson; Gene Donaldson," with an American accent.
"Toni Whitloe," she replied, and saw out of the corner of her eye people running in the downpour. "Just reading up on a new programme for our schools, the Imperial Cadet Corps."
"I did something like that with the US Air Force, called ROTC. Most kids liked it enough to stay in it, and parents thought it provided a good moral framework, something we need these days, I think. It's co-ed, I presume?"
"Boys and girls? Yes, it is. If they decide to go into Imperial service, the participants can go into Accelerated Basic when they get to Corfu, primarily in physical fitness and basic knowledge training; essentially what prior service people like I get…"
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 08:30 (GMT +1)
Terra, Paris, (former) EADS design, coffee room:
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("Jean-Claude, I did not expect to see you today,") Henri Bussard said as he fixed his coffee. ("You are now a very rich man.")
("Eh,") Jean-Claude waved it away. ("I would grow bored sitting around the apartment, if Susannah did not keep me busy,") he said. ("For now, once she has the apartment clean, she can now afford to play with stocks and bonds and such.")
("Men,") one of the women said. ("You complain when the home is not clean, but you will not lift a finger to make it so. Therefore we must do so by default.") She snorted and moved out, back to her desk.
("She has a point,") Henri agreed quietly.
("Yes,") Jean-Claude also agreed, quietly. ("I do not mind doing the laundry, but Susannah has declared me incompetent to iron her skirts. Therefore she does the ironing; I believe she complains just to be doing so.") He finished fixing his coffee, leaving a spoon in the sink, and started a new pot of coffee. ("Let us see what our new German owners would have us do.")
("Well, two new projects, Henri,") Jean-Claude said. ("One is to rework the designs of our penis-ship to incorporate the gravity technologies. We must also work up a framework that will allow us to ship the modules by interstellar freighter to other systems in the Empire.")
("Using the standards established by our new colleagues in Warsaw,") Henri replied. ("This we can do. What else?")
("To revise the design of the work pods so they will fit in a cube 2.5 meters on a side, and a shipping framework for them,") Jean-Claude replied. ("They will have a shirtsleeve environment and modular tool bays, and be simple enough that they can be built by colony planets, who will only need to import the computers.") He gestured, ("Take some of the interns and newbies and turn them loose on that.") He tossed a thick file folder to his friend.
("Of course,") Henri agreed. ("That is not all, though. What else?")
("We have two space-fighter designs, cargo and utility shuttle designs with troop-carrier capability, my friend. This is what EADS was planning to propose before we became part of Messerschmitt Ab instead of French.")
Henri reached over to take the RfQ(1) that Jean-Claude handed him. He sat back, sipping his coffee as he glanced at them, and said, ("A great deal of this can be salvaged. The light atmospheric design we can use with either a small motor-generator or gal-tech batteries and capacitors to power the grav-plates. In fact, the generator can be used to recharge the batteries … Life support … the single pilot can connect to his cockpit, which we can use as a life-pod. As a matter of fact…")
Jean-Claude laughed, ("Draw me up some sketches, my old friend. Do not forget the Design Bureau's standards, including the launch tube!")
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 09:16 (GMT -6)
Terra, Mobile, Alabama, Earl's Auto Supply:
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'Junior' nodded to his fishing buddy 'Jake' and put the basket of parts on the counter, starting to ring it up as a phone order. Jake would then take the parts and sell them on eBay to fill his orders and give Junior a cut. He finished, unfolded a piece of grubby paper, and typed in the AMEX number. He had no idea whose card number it was, he had gotten it from a 'friend of a friend' and it had never failed him.
This time it did. He frowned; Jake belched and took a swig from his paper-bag covered bottle of beer, "What's wrong?"
"Card's not going through. I typed it in right… Let me try again." He cancelled the transaction, then carefully, squinting a bit (Earl needed to replace some fluorescent lights.), retyped the number. The terminal beeped again, "Declined. What the hell…" The phone rang, and he picked it up, "Earl's auto supply, this is Junior. What? Yeah, here he is," and he covered the mouthpiece with his palm. "American Express. They want to talk to the cardholder," and he gave the handset to Jake.
"Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am, it's my card. Jake Guilford, the card number is … just a minute, please, and he frantically motioned to Junior, who passed over the grubby paper. "The last seven, and the security code is where? On the front? I don't see it… Oh, there it is." He read off some numbers, neither of them noticed a county sheriff wandering over, who clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder as he listened in, then motioned for the phone. "Hello, ma'am. American Express?" He plucked the grubby note out of Jake's hand, "Yes, this is Sheriff Tony Brascombe of Mobile County, Alabama. My badge number's 62134. No, I've got a dirty piece of paper with a credit card number written on it, I'll ask them." He looked at the two, "I want to see, from either of you, either a statement or a physical credit card with this number." He waited, the handset cradled against his shoulder. "Well, ma'am, it doesn't look like a physical card is coming. Who's the account holder, by the way?" He blinked, "No shit, excuse my language. Will you be pressing charges? Yeah, that was a stupid question. No, I've got that information at the station. Thanks, ma'am, and have a nice day."
"EARL!" he called. The owner came over, "Hey, Tony."
"Earl, I'm arresting these two for felony wire fraud, and I'll need to confiscate these parts as evidence. You want to give me a copy of that invoice?"
"Sure." Earl double-checked the invoice and initialed it, before dropping a copy in the box and frog-marching Junior out. He waited while the two were cuffed; searched, and secured in the back seat. Earl then asked, "I heard you ask who the account owner was. Can you tell me?"
"It's the Queen, Wayne's Black Amex," Tony replied as he slammed the trunk shut. "Someone sold it on the Internet."
"Gaw … Damn …"
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 13:02 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year DADA:
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"… and Miss Whitloe," Professor Harry said, flipping the file folder with the attendance closed. As was his habit, he loosened his tie and boosted himself to sit on a table. "Good afternoon, everyone. Today we're going to talk about memory charms. Now, these can be tricky, and can backfire on you. An example is Gilderoy Lockhart. Who can tell me about him? Miss Bones?"
Ami put her hand down, "He was a fraud who published a line of books taking credit for various things, like banishing werewolves and fighting vampires. He ran afoul of a memory charm and is in St. Mungo's long-term ward."
"Excellent! Four points to Slytherin," and Ami looked pleased. "Now, the Ministry no longer sends people about the country wiping memories out of muggles' minds; so this is somewhat out-of-date now. However, there are still times when you might want to use memory charms to remove or block a memory. The other side of these is memory enhancement charms, where you want to remember every detail."
"Why are they out of date?" Bill Morton asked.
"Previously, the International Statute of Secrecy prohibited muggles from knowing about the Wizarding World," Harry replied. "Now that that's been well and truly broken, there's less need for the general Wizarding population to know how to do these charms. However, there might still be a need, so it is still on the curriculum, as is the incantation to detect and to repair or reverse them." He clapped his hands, "Of course, memory charms aren't allowed for examinations. Let's go over how to detect them … yes, Mr. Morton, want to volunteer?"
"Yes, I don't have any, so please go ahead."
"Very well; the incantation is 'Revelo oblivisci' and if there are any, there will be a blue flash, a white if there aren't any. Ready?" He nodded, and there was a light blue flash. "That's interesting, mind if I take it off?" Bill shook his head, and Professor Harry cast 'Finite oblivisci', and then cocked his head. "Anything?"
"Bit of a headache," he commented. He put his head in his hands; then shook it, "Branstone, May's elder sister. There's something about slaves and Windfall, the planet."
"Where her sister died," Professor Harry said.
Bill shook his head again, "Oww. Bit like an ice-cream headache, it's sharp. No, I don't think she's dead, I think that's the modified memory, it doesn't seem … real, it's like a half-remembered dream. Does that seem … well, not right, but correct?"
"For an implanted memory, that's correct," Professor Harry replied. He rolled his wheelie chair out from behind his desk, commenting, "It's best to sit down when this is done," and cast 'Revelo oblivisci' on himself. "What colour was the flash?" he asked.
"Light blue," Ami Bones replied.
"Right-o, something's going on. Divide up, please, with your partner. Cast the revealing spell, but don't remove any alterations just yet. I want those with the altered memory over to my left, those without to the right. The wand movement is left two twists and then up and back." He demonstrated it, slowly, and the class got busy.
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 16:00 (GMT)
Fifthday, 22 Primus, 163, 07:13 (WFT +3)
Windfall, Brazos, docks:
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Isaac watched from an overhang on the top deck, sheltering from the early morning drizzle as the paddleboat Wagner maneuvered toward the dock. A large carved and painted wooden sign proclaimed 'Welcome to Brazos', he lifted his digital camera to snap a photo; then went below.
There were several travelers besides Isaac; so he waited patiently in line. He eventually reached the floating dock; and was waved under a shelter by a fellow in uniform. "Good morning, I'm Peter Morse, the dock master. Your ticket, please?" Isaac produced it; Mr. Morse read it over, then nodded, tearing off a section and returning it with a smile. "Welcome to Brazos, Mr. Levy." He glanced at Isaac's yarmulke, adding, "I don't know how much of the pub's menu is kosher, but John does have an excellent vegetarian menu, and we do have quite a few fish and chicken dishes. Nothing but military coffee, but there are some very strong teas, especially for breakfast." He held the gate open, and Isaac tilted his wheeled suitcase with a kick, "Up the ramp and along the boardwalk. Keep your sidearm available, just in case."
The young woman behind Isaac said, "I thought the wabbits were hibernating now."
"We don't know what their life cycles are yet, so better safe than sorry," Peter replied. "Remember, look over a half-door before opening the bottom, and if you need a sidearm, revolvers are available for rent at Jourdain Arms, as well as ammunition. Stop by the bank for transport tokens, we have public transport available. In any case, welcome to Brazos, miss. Your ticket, please?"
After checking in, Isaac went to the open-air part of the pub; a fellow came by wearing a white apron and with a towel over his shoulder. "Howdy, I'm John, the owner. Had a chance to look over the menu?"
Isaac stifled a yawn, "Excuse me. The rocking of the boat was hypnotic, and I need to wake up. A cup of your strongest tea, please, and where is the bank?"
"The bank is right down the boardwalk, it won't open for about another half hour, and the strongest tea I have will clean out your sinuses," John warned. "Are you the fellow from Yerida that Karen called about?"
"Isaac Levy, yes."
"Sorry I wasn't there when you checked in, Mr. Levy. We have a couple of new girls; I was showing them some of the ropes. I'll get you a mug of fireball, but you've been warned." He smiled briefly and made a note on an electronic pad, then walked off. After a minute, a dark-collared girl walked up with a tray, on it was a glass mug of reddish tea, a glass and pitcher of ice water, all in metal frames. She gave him a quick smile, and said, "Howdy. My name is Palli, and you're a brave man to start the morning with fireball. Have you had the chance to look at the menu?"
"You pick for me, something with eggs, no meat, please," and Palli smiled at him. "It will be just a few minutes, then. Enjoy star-rise." She made a note on her pad and walked off, and Isaac bounced the tea-ball a few times on its chain, then set it aside and took a sip. "YEARGGH!" he shouted, grabbing the glass of ice water and downing it.
"Well?" Palli asked, a smile on her face, sliding a plate in front of him and topping off his ice water.
"Okay, you told me so…" Isaac grumbled, and the girl smiled and touched one of the small ceramic pots. "Since you like spicy, you can try scorch. Just add a tiny drop on your eggs. Enjoy your meal." He watched her go, a waggle in her hips and her tiny skirt, and glanced at the small sign card. There were four different local spices in addition to pepper, salt, sugar and cream. They ranged from 'hot' through 'whoof' and 'oww' to 'scorch'. There were small metal spoons to add the spices, he separated out a bite of egg and put a tiny drop of 'hot' on.
"Jesus!" he swore, washing it down with gulps of ice water. He looked up as John came by with a larger tankard and pitcher of ice water, as the town past the wooden banister started to come alive. "People actually eat this stuff?"
"Oh, yeah. Which did you try, scorch?" He took one of the tiny spoons and dipped out a drop of it. Isaac thought he saw sweat, but that could have been the heat or the humidity. In any case, there wasn't any reaction beyond a frown. "It's going flat. Sorry about that; I'll change them out for fresh." He scooped them up, adding, "Morning tea rush; back in a few."
Isaac gulped some more ice water, finished his eggs and thick slices of toast with ice-cooled butter and honey; and set the dishes aside. Palli came by to collect them but didn't interrupt his thoughts as he watched a bus (white with green trim) go by. He could see the painted steel of its frame as it was pulled by two of the hexataurs, the wood and steel wheels covered by a wooden guard with flexible wicker skirts. The driver sat above the front steering wheels, he could see people with covered mugs hurrying toward the stop along the boardwalk. 'They drive on the left,' he thought. It was a curious mix of movie-style western and 1970's kibbutz, with gravel roads and electric lights; splashing fountains, behind him he could hear an electric blender, above him ceiling fans turned, and there was a blue-lit bug zapper.
He opened his binder and tried to orient himself with an overhead photo of the town. John came by, and Isaac raised his hand, "Excuse me. I'm looking for Jourdain Metalworks…"
"Ah, it's been a while since I've seen one of those. We'll need to improve our visitor's maps. You're here (he tapped it with the point of a pencil), the bank is here (slightly further along the road), and Jourdain is up here (another tap), in the industrial section of town. You want the Route Two bus, which goes counter-clockwise (he waved his pencil). Let the driver know, she'll tell you when to get off for Jourdain." He put down a small folder with the tab, and Isaac pulled out a Gringotts/Lantern Bank card as he nodded in thanks.
Isaac watched as the driver got back on board after feeding and watering the pair of hexataurs. "Next stop is Jourdain Metals and Rice Woodworks," she called; then whistled to the animals, and they were off again. She wore a judicial collar with a light green slave smock, indicating she worked for the town; below her slave belt she wore a tied-on matching skirt with a slit on her left, showing her penalty brands. On her right she wore a holstered revolver as well as having a short pistol-grip shotgun in a sleeve ready to hand. People boarded and departed from her left, to her right was a small shelf with a radio in front of the fare box. He made certain his kit was together, watching the passing scenery.
They had passed through a residential section, and were approaching the western point of the main island. The driver pulled into another roofed transit stop, turning and calling "Jourdain Metals and Rice Woodworks. The next stop is Primary Greenhouses." Isaac waited for other people to pass; then got off, saying "Thank you," to the driver.
"You're welcome, master. Don't forget your transfers," she said with a smile.
A painted sign to the south said, 'Future site of Jourdain Metalworks expansion'. A pit had been dug and a concrete foundation poured, pallets of tarp-covered concrete blocks sat to the side. Across the road from it was another sign for 'Rice Coachworks' with a building in a similar state. With a clatter, the bus drove off, and Isaac crossed the road to where he saw a lanky man sitting on the porch steps, talking to a very large black man. He called, "Mr. Jourdain?"
"That's me," the tall fellow replied, "You Mr. Levy? Come on over." Isaac held out his hand, "Isaac Levy, gunsmith for Yerida colony."
"Chuck Rice, your woodworker, this is Bob Jourdain, your comrade-in-arms," the large black man said. "We just got some of the new American and Russian rifles in; come by later, Mr. Levy, we can talk some business." He moved off across the street to his shop.
"You're what the Army would call a 'Distinguished Visitor', so we go in the back entrance, also known as the loading dock," Bob said with a broad grin. "Customers are much more important, they get the front door," he added.
"The Imperial Army?" Isaac asked as he followed.
"I was actually thinking of the US Army, but Imperial applies," Bob said, dropping down and helping to manhandle cases onto the dock. "I want the ammo in the ammo bunker; stack it off to one side, please," and several girls said, "Yes, father." One short-haired girl with a judicial collar and red hard hat asked, "Why, father?"
Bob gestured at some of the ammo boxes, "Some of that ammo is over sixty years old, with corrosive primers, and I don't trust it. Better it go 'boom' in the bunker, we're going to salvage what we can, but I'd rather we start people with a rebuilt gun and new ammo." She pursed her lips, nodded, and said, "I'll see to it, father."
"That's my girl," and he gave her a one-shoulder hug, which she returned. "Nicole, this is Mr. Levy, he's the new Yerida colony's gunsmith."
"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Levy," Nicole said, offering her hand. He shook it, and Bob said, "Nicole is my right-hand girl, she's taken to machining like a duck to water." She blushed, "Thank you, father."
"Nothing but the truth. Come on, Isaac, let's go inside."
"Ammo bunker?" Isaac asked as he took a green hard hat and safety gear. There were several yellow hard hats on a shelf, which had a thin film of dust on them; he recalled the girls outside had worn white hard hats of different designs.
"It's a twenty-foot steel cargo container I 'acquired', one with an environmental and fire-suppression system; we've stacked several meters of sand bags around it. All the ammo back stock, the powder and primer, except for what's on the retail shelf, as well as the colony's construction explosives like TNT and Primacord. Nicole and I have keys, as well as Sgt. Ross, our law enforcement, who also has our only key machine, and copies of all the keys. I'd suggest you do the same thing for your colony." He offered Isaac a cup of tea, which he accepted warily. Bob continued, "It's a nice planet, but as you may have noticed, there are two glaring deficiencies. One is any sort of petrochemical, which includes plastics. The second is rubber, and we don't have any sort of chemists to synthesize it." He put in a bit of sugar, commenting, "Personally, I can't wait for coffee bushes to start producing. This is local sugar, from our sugar beets."
"It's a virgin planet," Isaac said, taking a tentative sip.
"True, and we may find a moon or something with petroleum stocks, or a hunter might trip over oil bubbling out of the ground. Same thing with rubber, and I know the Canadian colony has maple trees planted. Still going to be a few years for maple syrup, though," Bob took a gulp of tea; then used a pry bar on a wooden rifle case. "Well, we've got 250 old Garands, and 500 old Soviet Mosin-Nagants. While these Mosins have a reputation of reliability, I'm not selling any rifle that hasn't been slugged(2); rebuilt, and bore-sighted(3). As a case in point, three of these ten rifles have seen service with a line company – look at the dings and scratches."
Isaac lifted one out, running a fingertip over a scratched inscription on the stock. "'Vlad loves …' someone. Irina, maybe, but that was in 1952. Korean War?" He tapped the barrel markings, "Stalingrad Arsenal carbine, 1944."
"I hope Vlad and Irina had a long, happy life together," Bob replied. "We need to do a depot rebuild job on these, clean them, slug the barrels, tap and drill them for the scopes, then boresight the iron sights and zero the scopes for a hundred meters. I'm fortunate that I've got a girl with the best eyes, she doesn't do MoA(4), she does seconds."
"I may want to borrow her," Isaac said. "I don't think you're going to get 750 perfectly functional rifles, you'll probably use some of these for parts." He started to field-strip the Mosin, "I think you should be able to just go to subassemblies, like the trigger group. Clean and lube them, and there's no reason you can't adapt these to current conditions, different length stocks, add in space for an emergency kit, a few spare rounds of ammo…" He looked through the barrel, "Oy, veh, the fouling…"
"I've got an electrical gizmo, takes an hour to clean five barrels. However, some of the local girls have asked about going out hunting, but we want them to go out partnered with experienced hunters, and we've got a Wookie colony to the north. That's who I was thinking of for the Mosins, they already use a crossbow, and with freshly loaded ammo…"
"Photos I've seen of them are larger, you might want to do either a slab trigger and grip safety or a larger trigger guard and lever action for them," Isaac suggested. "I admit, I've always liked a lever action, it lets you keep a sight picture. With a bolt action, you spend valuable seconds re-acquiring the target through your scope." He worked the trigger assembly as Bob said, "I've liked levers too, and for a lot of people it reminds them of the old Winchester rifles and the Old West." He tilted back his sombrero, "We are originally Texans, you know." He accepted a trigger assembly that Isaac handed him, who said, "Nothing wrong with that a bit of cleaning and lubrication can't fix. On the bus ride up I saw the driver had a pistol-grip shotgun close to hand."
"Yes, a .410 bore, pump action with birdshot for the wabbits. Let me see, we can cast a different trigger easily enough, and rework the trigger guard and bolt for their larger fingers …"
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Monday, December 2, 2002: 17:13 (GMT)
Fifthday, 22 Primus, 163, 05:00 (WFT +1)
Windfall, Riverside:
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The first girl, slave 11642 woke when her collar triggered, at the same time the device securing her hands behind her in her cuffs clicked, releasing them. She whimpered into her gag, her collar had fortunately interrupted an unpleasant dream about her being a free female named Marie… 'I'm a slave, like the rest of my homeworld. Thank the Source for that; slaves aren't supposed to release themselves…' she thought; then tried to shake off the unpleasant thoughts. Fumbling her hands free, she released her neck ring, then leaned back and released her ankles and stood, making her way to the suction area. She only had a minute from the wake-up shock to start the suction, connecting herself and pushing the button while the warning tingle was starting. As her waste was being removed, she fumbled with the laces for the over-hood and the under-blindfold. Her gag had been locked on by her owner's First Girl; therefore she didn't even consider removing it.
She stood; her legs still separate as the suction ended and her sonic shower began. As it ended, she took a folded slave tunic and skirt from the stack, pulling it on. She stretched, then went to pull the other five slaves from their confinement tubes as the work-day began.
The slave 11641 lay in her tube and waited for the first girl to release her. She heard another slave being released; then a few minutes later the clank of the locks, and her tray was slid out of the tube. She waited patiently as she was released and suctioned, her hood and blindfold removed as she was given a sonic shower and a fresh tunic and skirt for the day. She looked at the assignment board and went off to her station.
Ms. Yuki Fukuda rolled out of bed at 5:30, stretching and then started in to her morning routine. As she took her sonic shower, she gazed at the reflection in her mirror. Raising her arms, she fixed her hair, fluffing it over her slave collar.
She cracked an egg for her breakfast as a cool breeze blew through the open window of her apartment. Her fingers reached up to touch her collar as she thought back on how she had gone from Yoshi, everyday salaryman and attorney to Yuki, attorney and collared slave girl to her masters.
'It wasn't supposed to be like this,' she reflected as she sat down at her small apartment's table. 'Yes, I was small enough to make a convincing girl. Enough so I could earn extra money as a club bunny, the extra yen certainly helped.' She paused to eat, adding to herself, 'Until I was in the wrong place at the wrong time as Yuki, the bunny.' She mopped up the last of the egg juice with her toast, then taking her plate and tea-mug to the sink, she scrubbed them clean; then sighed, "I have to be seen in public as a slave girl by my watchers. That means public transport, which means going wand less. At least I can telecommute in, which means I can be Yuki the slave pretty much full time, performing tasks for her owner, instead of burning one of my precious collar unlock chips for a day as Yuki, the free female. I burned so many of those on Tosul..." She walked to her small bedroom, locking on wrist and ankle slave bells and tying on sandals before she knelt, choking down a feeding gag; pulling it as tight as she could before locking it. Last, she pulled on a white slave tunic and skirt. Checking her appearance in the bathroom mirror, she apparated from the apartment.
With a small 'pop' she materialized where she had been directed by her master's email; at the southern point of the peninsula, in the enclosed area under the public gallows. Above her she could hear the creak of the rope as the body of the male slave swung in the breeze, underneath it was pleasantly cool, although the stench from the rotting body had pretty much dissipated. She looked around and saw what she was to put on: a small waist pouch and a net-style 'backpack' with a mid-size wicker container, the container and the pack's opening both tied shut and sealed with wax. She straightened her slave smock, pulled the pack and pouch on, adjusting them; then pushed through the small access door, adjusting the pack straps once more, then her smock and leaned forward to snap her wrists behind her in her belt's cuffs, then walked north, toward the public transport stop
"Move, slave," a native said as his friend pulled another slave from the seat in front of her. He sprawled, taking up the entire seat as Yuki whimpered once and scooted over. Apparently she didn't move quickly enough, as she was picked up and thrown against the other row of seats, she then fell to the floor of the bus. He sprawled on the seat, resuming his conversation and ignoring the two slaves as unimportant, as the other girl helped Yuki up, pulling and tugging her smock and skirt straight. "This slave begs your forgiveness, my masters," she said, then pulled Yuki to kneel next to her at the back of the bus. "This slave inquires if the slave is injured? This slave did not see any injuries on the slave." Yuki shook her head, whimpering twice, and the other slave continued, just as quietly, "This slave requests the slave lean forward," and as Yuki did, she could feel the other slave adjusting her wrists in the cuffs, ratcheting them tight. "This slave has adjusted the slave's cuffs to be more comfortable, but also secure. The slave is a new slave? This slave did not see penalty brands, and the slave is wearing a private slave's smock, unlike this slave." Yuki glanced at the girl's judicial collar and light blue slave smock, then leaned back to look at her back.
"Yes, this slave is Enhanced. This slave has heard all slaves will be Enhanced, although as a privately owned slave, this slave does not know what the slave's owners will do." She shrugged, telling Yuki, "Do not be concerned, slave. The procedure does not hurt, and the slave will be a better slave for the procedure; you will sell for more."
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Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 07:07 (GMT +8)
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:
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"And the situation in London with Wayne, comrade? How does that go?" the Chairman asked.
"Comrade Dai in my office suggested a revision to the plan," the MSS Director replied. "I approved it, as it will generate more fear and terror. This attack will take place at Kings Cross railway station in London, when the school train arrives with the children. There are two parts to it, the first is a wizarding attack party will wear black cloaks and white face masks, appearing to be a resurgent terrorist group known as 'Death Eaters'. They will seize the arrival platform and kill, in a most gruesome manner, Wayne, Morton and his siblings, including small children and any who resist. At the same time, a detachment from the embassy's guard force will provide external security for the attack and repel any non-magical relief force that may try to render assistance. Once the attack has been carried through successfully, the attack force will depart to a rendezvous point, and the guard force will return to the embassy."
"We will not be blamed for this attack?" the Defense Minister asked.
"The external guard force is ostensibly there to protect the people, comrades," the MSS director replied. "That is what they shall tell any who ask. The British government proved truly inept in fighting the actual Death Eaters several years ago when they were lead by an insane wizard, it is believable that they have resurfaced. Comrade Dai believes this will provide both the maximum terror, survivability to our intelligence assets, as well as to produce the end result of Wayne and Morton's deaths. The only downside is that several men in Comrade General Wang's detachment have become ill. As they are senior noncoms and junior officers, that will require Comrade General Wang to personally lead the troops."
"The troops – what illness is it?"
"The embassy doctor is not certain, but they have been hospitalized as a precaution, along with a suitable guard force to prevent the British from taking advantage of the situation. The doctor has taken personal charge of their care, as he should. Truly, this is a minor matter, comrades. I mention it only to be complete," the director said. "The only variable is the actual date and time for the attack. The school, Hogwarts, has only recently added non-magical courses to its curriculum, which will extend the mid-term examination schedule. As this is the first occurrence of this extended examination period, they are using a tentative schedule of Sunday, the fifteenth, with arrival in mid-afternoon for the school train in London, with examinations concluding the previous day. Comrade Major Chai is working to confirm this."
"Good," the Chairman said. "Confirm this with Comrade Major Chai and Comrade General Wang."
The Foreign Minister raised a finger, "One moment. The Comrade General's troops will be in uniform?" he asked.
"Of course, to prevent them being considered spies," the Defense Minister replied. "They will have light arms, assault rifles and sidearms only. There is no need to issue heavier weapons."
Sighing, the Foreign Minister commented, "Comrades, I once again must mention that having armed, uniformed troops on the soil of another country have been cause for war."
"They are there to 'assist' the British (the MSS Director finger-quoted) in securing the situation," he replied. "May we proceed?"
"Yes, comrades," the Chairman said. "Comrade, what is the status of our currency holdings?"
"Comrades," the Finance Minister started, "Our exchange rate and gold reserves …"
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Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 10:02 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year Mathematics:
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Arthur looked up from checking the roll, flipping the folder shut. "Miss Canby is in the Infirmary from a potions incident yesterday, I believe Miss Whitloe will be taking her assignments to her?" The blonde nodded, and he continued, "I will hand back the quiz results in a moment, we're doing well with geometry, after the holiday break we'll start to edge into basic algebra, and no, it has nothing to do with the female undergarment." There were some snickers, and he flashed a quick smile. "Now then, we know that next week is the mid-term exams, so we're going to go over the quiz results and address the weaknesses." He picked up the stack of papers, walking back and forth as the papers went back. "Mr. Applebee … Miss Bones … Miss Whitloe, with Miss Canby's …"
Arthur paused as he locked the door to the classroom. He saw Ami Bones and his brother Bill talking as they walked together toward the Great Hall and lunch. "Yes, Sara, what can I do for you?"
She looked at him suspiciously, "You're not calling me 'Miss Whitloe'," she said.
"We're not in the classroom," he pointed out as he cast a ward. "Out here, we're just two students, a second and a fifth-year. So, what can I do for you, Sara?" He gestured toward the Great Hall, and she started to walk with him.
"I … um, I just wanted to pass on thanks from my brother, err, sister, Toni. She said that 'female's still not automatic', but apparently the coaching did help. She also got her bonus, and she'll be going to Corfu for accelerated basic into the Army after the New Year, as well as getting a promotion."
"Good. Mattie will be glad to hear that. So where is she now?"
"In London, staying at our house. From what Mum says she's still something of a tomboy, but then again, I guess I am too. It takes me a while to get used to wearing the school skirts instead of pants."
"My sister Julie said that also." She nodded and he gestured ahead where Ami and his brother bill had tentatively, pinky fingers only, held hands. "Now then, anything you've heard from the rumor mill about those two? I like Ami, and I think they're a cute couple, myself…"
"No, I haven't heard anything," Sara replied, smirking a bit. "Maybe we should … help them a bit…"
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Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 12:27 (GMT)
Windfall departure, Taalah, Owner's cabin:
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"Settle down, dad," Elena said as her father sat moodily on his bunk. "A few days to Tosul, we switch over to the McCoy and go home for Christmas. I even got some shopping done…"
"I couldn't care less about shopping, I just want everyone home safe," he sighed and sat back. "I just … well, this is a slave ship, and I'm the goddamn owner…"
"No, Taalah is a cargo ship that happens to have carried slaves in the past."
"And will be again," he snapped. "Damn it…"
"Okay, let's look at this latest email from Arthur, the true owner," Elena said, crossing to a chair, turning and straddling it. "You and I both know that he can't have been happy with this, he was, from what we know, happy, or at least less displeased that the Taalah was going to be a system supply ship. It paid the bills, and it wasn't hauling slaves." She crossed her arms on the chair back and gazed at her father. "Now, we have found out that one of the 'disposable' (she finger-quoted) lines of slaves seems to have some magical ability, enough to be accepted to Hogwarts. The question arose if she was a one-off, flash in the pan, or it happened to be something missed by WorkForce when they designed and bred that line of slaves. Even if there's no wizarding gene in those slaves we'll be buying, we're at least saving their lives; which is a good thing."
"I would rather not deal with the scum at all, unless it was to pull the lever when we hang them."
Elena sighed, "Dad, you've passed on your rather absolutist moral code to Arthur," and she raised a hand. "I'm not saying that's good or bad, I'm just saying there's little grey area there."
"There shouldn't be ANY grey area," he snapped. "It's not right, it's not moral …"
"DAD!" she almost shouted. "Dad, calm down. Now, I was saying that we needed to find out if these girls had that gene or not, and there's only two ways to get them, buy them, or steal them."
"I would almost prefer to steal them then to give that scum any money for them…"
"And if we did?" she demanded. "You know that's considered theft, it would have us arrested and convicted, the ship confiscated, and all the crew sold off. It wouldn't accomplish anything but create problems. No, it's better to have a nice, legal title to them, and then free them and adopt them."
"I still don't like it …"
"That seems to be Arthur's pet phrase as well," his second daughter replied. "Unfortunately life isn't black and white, dad; it's a range of grey…"
"It should be!"
"Dad …" Elena sighed. "Now, rescuing those girls is a good thing, right? I mean, our ultimate aim is going to be ending the slave trade. If these girls happen to be witches, that's all the better, but even if they're not, they're still alive, right?" He grumbled, and she said, "Look, I'll deal with S'ana and S'rat regarding the slaves, you get the other equipment, set up the licensing and certification, all that stuff. The faster we get that started, the faster we can get to Earth for Christmas." He grumbled, and she wagged a finger, "Now, I want you to lie down for a nap, and if I have to, I'll clonk you with my rolling pin." She stood, smoothing down her uniform dress, "I'm still your aide, and taking care of my boss includes watching out for his health. Do you want that sleep aid Doc gave me?"
Bill Morton sighed, "No, I'll take a nap." He leaned forward, and Elena knelt, pulling off his boots; then covering him with a blanket. "Computer, lights at five percent," she ordered, leaning forward to kiss her father's forehead; then leaving the room.
"How is Master Bill?" S'ana asked in the passage.
Elena looked at the dark-haired slave, the ship's combination First Girl and First Officer, who was dressed in a light green slave tunic and skirt, her collar lights bright in the dim passage. "He's stressed, he hasn't gotten much rest. I talked some things over with him, and I'll keep an eye on him. The sooner we can get him home and with family, the better," Elena admitted. "He really doesn't like dealing with slaves, so you and I will deal with those, while we're going to get S'rat to help him with the other cargo. She's got a dark collar, and the faster we can get that done …"
"Yes, mistress, I agree," the older woman said. She gestured, "Mistress, why don't we set that up now, over a cup of tea with Mistress S'rat and our new Captain?"
"Captain Shenberg, do you think there will be any major problems?" Elena asked.
"There are two points of concern for me, the convoy and entry into Tosul space," the dark haired former Israeli said. "We have the contract with the planet as a system supply ship, as well as their license to possess our 'illegal' equipment. The convoy command ship might want to lock out that equipment or board us as a precaution; I know I would. My concern is that they might try to take the ship in some way, so S'ana, I'm going to specifically authorize you and the other slaves to wear and use sidearms on my authority."
The first girl blinked. "We're slaves …"
"You're crew," Mischa replied. "I don't want you to start something, but if I order you to … decouple the flux capacitor, that means I think any boarding party is going to try something, and we need to take the ship back. Bloodlessly, if possible."
"Yes, Captain," S'ana replied. "Tosul?"
"There, I think it's more that the crew is Enhanced slaves, and they need to be cleared with the Portmaster's office, as well as the licenses for our new equipment." The Captain turned to Elena, "What's the deal with buying slaves?"
"Sorry, but that's classified. I'll discuss what I can with you later, but we're supposed to get what we can of the 'disposable' models, those that aren't already privately owned." Elena cleared her throat, looking at S'rat. "This comes under the 'buying slaves to save their lives', although I understand we're using the 'biological research' excuse?"
"Yes mistress and I can already feel my hand cramping from signing the licenses," the tall, dark haired beauty said. Like the First Girl, she wore a simple smock and short skirt, although as a free female with a dark collar, it was without the 'slave yellow' S'ana wore, and in white, not S'ana's green. The Captain, like Elena, wore white leggings with a black over-tunic and a gold command bodysuit under, with gold rank pips on the tunic's lapels, while Elena wore a single gold chevron on her lapels, along with the aiguillette of an officer's aide on her right shoulder.
"Just remember to call him 'sir' not 'master'," Elena reminded the two collared women. "Captain, if you and S'rat try to keep him occupied with the hardware we need and the licenses, S'ana and I will deal with the slaves, and getting them all up to date, and buying the '70' series of slaves. I understand we have a guild now, so we may also use some of those girls for staffing the new building, lower level personnel," she continued. "What about … " (she motioned) "… what's her name, tried to take the ship…"
"J'lal, mistress," S'ana replied. "We will transfer the slave to the Tosul office, although she would be most useful with Master Bill in buying or licensing the necessary technology. She is an experienced spacer; however she wishes to use the forced-speech options as part of her self-punishment."
"Talk to your father, Ensign, and S'ana will explain the situation to J'lal. We can disable her speech options and re-enable it later if necessary, but J'lal as a resource for him is too useful to waste moving cargo." Elena nodded and the Captain continued, "How long to get everything licensed and up to date?"
"The slaves … I estimate about two days," S'ana replied. "The ship's equipment will take longer, and the Portmaster will wish to install some lockout devices. We would only be able to use the equipment once a convoy command ship sent an unlock code or we broke seals. While the ship's slaves are in the slave house, being updated, Master Bill can start inquiring into equipment and supplies required for the planet – he has a list?"
Captain Shenberg nodded, "Yes, it contains …"
"Ensign, a minute," the Captain said, holding open the cabin door. Elena entered as the Captain sealed the door, and waited until the Captain was seated. "What's so classified, Ensign?"
"There are two things, Captain. First, with the slaves, apparently one of the 'disposable' slaves someone picked up has the wizarding gene, and is attending classes at Hogwarts. They don't know if the girl's a one-off witch, or it's something that's in the entire line of slaves that WorkForce missed in their design. In any case, we'll be saving their lives, so that's good."
"And if they turn out to be zarroji … Mischa Shenberg nodded slowly. "While we can accommodate them aboard, we can also quarter them and use them on-planet as a part of the new building's staff. I believe some Terran crew is due to arrive after the New Year, and these slaves would be young enough for a boarding school. However, those don't usually start until September. What else?"
"Cap'n, I know they're planning on installing some of the FTL comm equipment, along with a witch or wizard to maintain it. They're usually covered as the comm officer, but I don't know how it works or whom they're sending. Just that you'll probably get that when you get to Eunomia."
"That matches what I've heard. Why, did you want the position?"
Elena smiled, "While I've got two brothers and a sister at Hogwarts, the gene seems to have skipped me. I think you've got a good crew, I like them, but I'd rather get back on a shuttle's flight deck. I miss my friends from the Bucky."
"Alcoholism isn't something that goes well with flying," Captain Shenberg said. "Still, I understand what you're saying, I'd like to get back aboard my little ketch, feel the salt spray in my face again. While it's still early, I could use another helm officer. Interested?"
"For now, yes, Cap'n. At least until Tosul, but my current assignment is aide-de-camp."
"Well, think it over, and let me know after New Years. You do know that this is something of a special-operations command?"
"Yes, and I was thinking about going through Corfu after the holidays, if I couldn't get back on the Bucky. Still, an Intel assignment would be interesting…"
"You'd need to lose a couple kilos, then again, I could lose them too," the Captain said. "That's all I had, anything for me?"
"No, Captain."
"Good. Tell S'ana I want you put on the duty rotation for the helm, and take care of your father. Dismissed, Ensign."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Elena said, bracing to attention before leaving.
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Wednesday, December 4, 2002: 06:02 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:
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"Good morning, everyone," Harry said as he entered with his wife, Ginny. She moved off to talk with Aurora, while Harry found his usual seat. Arthur entered with Mattie, who turned, seeing Hagrid and filling his oversize mug. He accepted it with a nod of thanks, while Arthur sat down with Callista Vector.
"Hagrid, I wanted to bounce an idea off you," Mattie said. "If witches and wizards are going off-planet to colony worlds, shouldn't they have an idea about common farm animals like cows and horses? How to slaughter and dress pigs and chickens?"
The half-giant nodded, "'C'n see that, wh' 'bout getting' s' o' those off-planet beasties?"
"I'll ask about it, but they'd have to go through British Customs quarantine. That's why I was thinking about our muggle animals. I know I wouldn't have a clue how to milk a cow, but then I don't need to. Those witches and wizards, future colonists do."
"Not to mention accelerated growth and medical potions for their feed," Severus said, taking his usual careful, evaluating sip of his tea. He nodded briefly in approval; then took his usual seat at the table as Minerva appeared. She dropped her files at the head of the table, accepting a mug of tea Harry floated to her. "Miss Wayne, do you have a plan for dealing with Umbridge?" Severus asked. "If not, I do."
"As she's a threat to everyone, including purebloods, I'm interested as well," Ginny said. "We could simply kill her…"
"I'd like to hear it, sir. I was thinking of removing her support in the Wizengamot," Mattie replied. "Let her proceed with her plans, then have her supporters turn on her when the final vote comes up." She took a gulp of coffee, "Her self-identity is the Head of house Selwyn, one of the last heirs of Slytherin," she continued. "I'm having the goblins research Selwyn, if they can disprove it, I can have my mother claim their proxy votes for Wayne, an old Scottish house." She sat back, "With the cooperation of the houses of Potter and Black, we should have a solid majority bloc of votes." She looked over at Ginny, "That would include house Weasley, if I remember correctly your house proxy and your Wizengamot seat went to Selwyn in the 1600's. Once that's researched, we can discuss the release of your proxy vote; I'd need to study the original conditions relating to the original proxy surrender. I know I don't have time to handle the Wizengamot like I should, and politically, it would be best to keep it with a pureblood line." She looked down the table, "Narcissa, would you be willing to claim the Malfoy proxy, or stay as a Black?"
"That is something I hadn't considered," she replied after a moment. "What about Bella and house LeStrange? As we are both women, that would mean Lord Black (she motioned to Harry) would need to certify our positions as Heads of our respective houses. As he is Lord Black, which is subordinate to Lord Potter, and we married the previous heads, we would need his permission." Narcissa sat back, sipping her tea, "You've been doing well with your classes on politics, but on what basis do you challenge house Selwyn?"
"I believe house Wayne was an earlier cadet house to Slytherin and associated with house Ravenclaw through marriage than house Selwyn," Mattie replied. "That, and Umbridge's exact pedigree is what the goblins are researching."
Filius nodded, "Complex, I agree. My own line goes through house Hufflepuff and house Gryffindor, and linked with house Malfoy, although I don't have as good a claim as Narcissa does."
Minerva rapped on the table, "While this is interesting, we have a problem with memory charms on some students and faculty. Harry?"
"Yes, apparently a Japanese fellow came up from London and planted false memories," he replied. "With the cooperation of Imperial Research, DMLE, MI-5 and the Yard, we've found the bloke. Apparently some multinationals and criminal syndicates are looking to not simply profit, but own entire planets and star systems. Mattie, or should I say 'Your Highness'?"
"I've sent out test emails to several system governors, apparently they're moving slowly with the plan to test the waters, I only had one suspicious reply email. That was the Benecee system, the one where Eleanor Branstone went and supposedly died. Now, we have Eleanor and her partner Marie supposedly killed by animal attack, as well as several other witches placed there in disguise by the Outworld Affairs office." Mattie looked at Arthur, "For that reason as well as electoral shenanigans, I think I'm going to have to visit them over the holidays."
"You're not going alone," he said firmly.
"Indeed, Eleanor was one of mine, I'm going to insist on going," Pomona said. Severus nodded, "Count Bella and I in as well, as well as the Branstones."
"And Madame Laval," Arthur said. "What to do with Outworld Affairs?"
"Leave them be for now," Severus said. "They're not going anywhere."
Mattie nodded, "One other thing, next week I'll offer any staff that is taking my class the chance to take my midterm exam here." She waved a finger, "You signed up for the course, you take the exam."
"True, but this year exams will go through Saturday the fourteenth, with the train back on Sunday," Minerva said.
"I'm going to be a day late getting to Gotham; I have to stop over in New York for some business. I'll be staying with Connie Koslowski and her mom overnight." Arthur mentioned.
Minerva rapped her knuckles again, "Very well. Callista, how are the school's finances with the EADS proceeds?"
"Very nice," the Deputy Headmistress replied. "In fact …"
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Wednesday, December 4, 2002: 10:05 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:
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"Good morning, everyone," Mattie said as she closed the attendance folder. "I see Ms. Trelawney hasn't graced us with her presence, which is too bad. She's the weekly winner, so Ms. Vector, if you'd pass the weekly cup on to Ms. McGonagall? Thank you. We've got a lot to go over today before next week's midterm exam. As I mentioned in the syllabus, the running market totals through the close of business on next Tuesday the tenth is forty percent of your grade. I know I've helped out several people with that, so if you're not up at least fifteen percent since the start of term, you ain't trying very hard."
She took a sip of water; then pointed, "Mr. Adams, what's a value stock?"
"A stock that has a high earnings, but the p/e ratio doesn't match. It's a profitable company, but it's not reflected in the stock price. It's a buy," Charlie said.
"Excellent, a good answer. Six points to Hufflepuff. Ms. Dumbledore, Felicia that is, what's an example of a growth stock?"
"McDonalds and Coca-Cola," the recently-bitten werewolf replied.
"Good, four points to Gryffindor. Ms. Potter, what are the features of a LLC?"
Ginny smiled, "A limited liability corporation is …"
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Thursday, December 5, 2002: 07:48 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 5th year DADA:
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Professor Harry put the file folder with the class roll away, and wheeled the table with the lectern to the side. "Please put your books and kit against the far wall, and shove the chairs aside. We're going to have the midterm practical, and yes, there's no warning. An attack might come on you suddenly, you need to be prepared." He set five rune-stones out, adding, "The fight is to first blood or unconsciousness, Miss Wayne, I would appreciate your disabling your Ring."
"In a real fight, I wouldn't," she said, before tossing it to him.
"No, but we want to give your classmates at least a chance," he said with a grin. "I'll give you the option of dueling me with it."
"Hmm, tough choice," she said false-seriously. "I'll roll the dice with this lot. Sprink, you wanna dance with me?"
"Why her?" Felicia asked.
"She's a Black, and I've been training with her and her aunts Bella and Narcissa," Mattie replied. Felicia paled as she added, "We're using books out of the Slytherin library."
"Which are not fluffy bunny books like the textbook," Sprink added, throwing her robes over her chair; and with a flick had a wand in each hand as Mattie tossed her robes aside as well, a fighting knife appearing in her left hand. Professor Harry knelt, touching one of the rune-stones and a dome appeared. "No Unforgivables or killing blows or curses," he called as a reminder as both fighters went into a crouch.
"You're relying on that bloody Ring too much," Sprink panted as she held a wand at Mattie's throat.
"You're right," her best mate agreed. "You gonna call 'Uncle'?"
"Mate, in case you've not noticed, you're flat on your back with a wand at your throat. You call 'Uncle', not me."
"Nope, not gonna happen," Mattie said, reaching up with her legs to grab Sprink and flip her into the rune-wall as she bounced to her feet. With a wrist-twitch, knives were once again in her hands as Sprink transformed into her wolf-form and leaped at her.
"First Blood!" someone called. Sprink was still in her wolf-form, Mattie had a ripped uniform and bite and claw marks, Sprink with a knife slash in one flank. Both had wands and other weapons stuck to the rune-wall, both were panting, Sprink with Mattie's throat in her jaws, Mattie with a knife against Sprink's throat.
"Yes, I think that's a tie. Relax, both of you," Professor Harry said, touching the rune-stone to deactivate the wall. They both sat up, Mattie leaning forward to give Sprink a hug. "Good fight, mate."
With a 'pop', Sprink transferred back to her human form, just as battered as Mattie. Her white school tights had a bloody gash on one thigh, and Mattie reached down to help her to her feet. "Miss Wayne, your Ring," Professor Harry said as he tossed it to her. "Go see Poppy for your cuts, and next, we'll have Miss Dumbledore and …" They missed the rest as they collected their bags and went out the classroom door.
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Friday, December 6, 2002: 21:40 (GMT)
Terran system, L-1 station, 1 g Holiday Inn™:
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Edward Nigma sighed as he dropped his pressurized tote, helmet, and other luggage just inside the door. With a small sucking sound, it pressure-sealed, and he moved to the chairs, picking up the remote along the way. Studying it for a second, he keyed it, the curtains moved aside and he could seat himself, able to watch Earth. He saw a front moving across the North American continent, while the white cobwebs of cities defined Europe and northern Africa. He sat back, stretching in his skinsuit, hearing the joints pop, then stood and went into the small fresher, rubbing his chin and deciding to shave again.
"May I join you?" Edward looked up from his notes at the redheaded girl, then around the restaurant. He closed the binder, gesturing with his pen, "No offense, miss, but why? There are empty tables available."
"I'm looking for some companionship tonight," she said, leaning forward to expose more of her cleavage.
"I see," he said, then held up his left hand. "I am engaged; miss, so you need to seek your companionship elsewhere. Good evening;" and he re-opened his binder of notes. She didn't take the hint, taking a seat across from him. He looked over his reading glasses, and said, "Miss, I do not wish to be rude, but I am not interested. Please leave, I have a great deal of work to do."
"Don't you think I'm attractive?"
"Miss, for the third time, I am not interested. I came here for a peaceful meal, which I wish to consume. Alone. Please leave, if not voluntarily, I shall summon the manager, who shall then call station security."
"We could have a lot of fun, though." She reached out to him, and he turned, raising his hand. A waitress came over, and he asked, "Please summon the manager and station security. This young woman refuses to leave me alone." She nodded and hurried off, and the redhead looked stunned. "You're actually … "
"Miss, I have asked you three times to leave me alone. You have not done so, therefore I have no choice." He turned as the manager came up, along with a security guard. "Good evening. This young woman seems to feel that I am in need of 'fun' and 'companionship'. I have informed her that I am engaged and not interested, but she refuses to depart."
"You again," the guard replied with a growl. "I thought you were heading back to Earth. C'mon, you…"
"Fine!" she spat. She stood and walked out, trailed by the guard. The manager cleared his throat nervously. "I must apologize, sir…"
Edward waved it off, "Not your fault. However, I am getting rather hungry…"
"Not a problem, sir. I believe you ordered the Chicken Marsala? I'll just see how that is doing." He nodded politely, took a few steps and motioned to the waitress, "Bring me his bill, I'm comping it," he told her quietly.
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Saturday, December 7, 2002: 06:27 (GMT)
Terra, London, PRC embassy:
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Comrade Chai smiled to herself as she settled into her run alongside Comrade General Wang. He nodded to her, ("Good morning, Comrade Corporal,") as he maneuvered to avoid a lamp post.
("Good morning, Comrade General. It seems we have a few extra comrades this morning,") she replied. Indeed, their company of troops were preceded and followed by detachments from other embassies, all of who seemed to try to 'irritate' the Chinese by singing offensive 'Jodie' (cadence) songs. They were also trying to outdo each other, the Russians would stop and do prisyadka kazatskis (squat kicks) as part of their exercises.
("Yes, it is most amusing. However, the Comrade Sergeant has things in hand,") he replied as the Chinese replied with their own offensive jodies. ("Have you heard back from Comrade Dai?")
("I have, Comrade,") she said, handing him another folded printout as the US Marines finished up one about guarding heaven's streets. ("Does heaven have streets?") she wondered.
("Does it exist?") he asked. ("We shall no doubt find out in due time,") slipping the email back to her. ("Your shoe, comrade.")
("Ah, thank you, comrade,") she replied, laying the printout next to her as she tied her shoe. She got up as one of the German dogs fetched the printout, returning it to his mistress.
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Saturday, December 7, 2002: 09:48 (GMT)
Terra, London, US Embassy:
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"It seems our BND colleagues wish to offer lunch," the SEAL said to the commercial attaché, the cover for the CIA's Chief of Station. "12:30 at a particularly fine German restaurant," he added.
"It is always useful to experience other cultures," she replied, looking over her glasses. "Bring me back something tasty, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I presume our British hosts have a copy of this," she asked, looking over the copied email.
"It was a very ethnically diverse lunch, ma'am," he replied as he set a paper bag on her desk. She raised an eyebrow, and he smiled, "A few kilos of some very fine German sausage, ma'am. I think your family will enjoy it."
(Warning, slave abuse.)
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Saturday, December 7, 2002: 21:00 (GMT)
Fourthday, 26 Primus, 163, 15:47 (WFT +1)
Windfall, coastal road, north livestock area:
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Yuki was exhausted. She didn't know where she was, she was just happy the long march had finally stopped as she sank to her knees with the other hooded slaves. She could feel the slave leashed behind her, as she was leashed to the slave in front of her. For now, she just spread her knees a bit and leaned forward in the dusty road as she panted, her hands still cuffed behind her.
She had been met by her theoretical master, or at least the representative of her blackmailers, some forty kilometers north of Riverside. He had inspected her, strapped a tight blindfold on her after brutally tightening her gag; and then added a hood and leash. She felt him remove her smock and skirt, and write something on her chest before she was chained in line, the long march starting with the command, "Slaves, left foot, and march!"
Dr. BJ Tannenbaum was irritated. Sure, she had a vaguely-worded research grant for livestock that she had gotten from the Department of Outworld Affairs and a rental contract with the local Slave Control Agency, but there weren't as many male animals as she needed! There were only three intact males and half a dozen mules, former males that had been bio-sculpted to look female, but they were pretty much useless. She really didn't want to study the damn farm animals that had already been done by the previous bunch of colonists. Yes, her research assistants were reviewing and updating that for genetic engineering, but if she was going to get her Nobel Prize for medicine, she needed to be able to modify the human genome for different environments, and she sure as hell couldn't do that on Earth! Here she could, nobody had ever heard of Josef Mengele!
George Brenner was concerned. Here he stood in a small paddock on a foreign planet with a pissed-off Dr. Tannenbaum, surrounded by hooded and bound slaves. Yes, she always seemed to be pissed, but this wasn't the way to conduct bio-science, in his opinion. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of options. He was a grad student of Dr. Tannenbaum, who retained his travel and financial documents, along with those of her other grad students and assistants. Her prospectus was for 'genetic study of farm animals toward increasing colony usability factors', and he thought it would be chickens, pigs, and horses; not slaves! No, he hadn't thought about bio-engineering slaves, several dozen knelt in the mud behind him, hooded and chained; while half-a-dozen others had been tied back over sawhorses, their wrists tied to the corral's fence, forming improvised benches or tables. She called them 'mules', bio-sculpted from male to female, and truthfully they did look like slave girls in their late teens or early twenties. Not that you could tell much with the tight hoods they had locked on, but he wished there was something he could do; although it seemed to have the support of both the Empire and the local planetary authorities. He looked up as Dr. Tannenbaum shouted something…
Yuki came to when her collar ignited in pain, and she arched her back, screaming into her gag. After a few seconds it stopped, and while she panted, she found herself tied to a wooden frame by her waist, her knees widely separated and tied, her ankle shackles tied to the wooden frame, and her wrist shackles to a rough wooden beam, supporting her as she lay in midair. Hanging her head back, she could feel the ring of her leash through her hood against the bottom of her chin. She moaned slightly, and felt the end of metal probe touch her bare breasts, "Silence, mule." She moaned again, and the probe moved to her right nipple. There was a shock, and she screamed again into her gag.
"Not even useful as furniture, are you, mule?" the woman asked, distracted, using a supple, thorned switch on her breasts. Yuki gave a small scream, but her new mistress had walked away, calling, "Get the slave over here and strap her down."
George maneuvered the first slave girl into position, bent backward over the 'platform' provided by the mule-slave's body, running her leash down and around the other girl and clipping it to the ring on her hood. She whimpered in fear, he nudged her legs apart and leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the penalty brands on her left thigh as he unlocked her slave belt. Another graduate student brought one of the three intact male slaves forward; he had already been dosed with the local drug 'Maat'. While he was wearing only a gag, his eyes were wild and he remained cuffed, as he had been convicted of killing slaves. The other fellow unlocked his slave belt and said, "Take the slave."
With a growl, he almost leaped on the bound slave, who screamed in terror through her gag. George stepped back, saying quietly, "This ain't right, Pete. This ain't right."
Pete grunted, "Yeah, but what the hell are we gonna do? Tannenbaum has our paperwork, man, she's got her eyes firmly fixed on the Nobel in Oslo, and we're just one step up from these slaves, man. She's got the local government and the Empire behind her, and she's said that when we're finished we can play with the mules. I don't know about you, man, but I don't get enough nookie to turn it down, even if they ain't real women." He raised an eyebrow, "Damn, that guy's fast. You pull him back while I finish her off and record the collar numbers."
"Why me?"
"Man, you played in the NFL before your knee went south. You're a big fucker, and he's aggressive. If he tried to fight, you could take him, no sweat."
"Yeah," George replied. "It's still rape, man, and we're accessories."
"They're mules and animals we're renting, Mr. Brenner. It's not rape." Dr. Tannenbaum said as she walked over. "He is fast, isn't he? I'll have to look into that Maat root. Carry on," she said as she walked away, while Pete, the skinny nerd, brought over another slave.
'Think, Yuki, think,' she told herself. 'What can I do?' She grunted as another slave was shoved on top of her, the girl's chain leash running around her armpits, she heard the squeals of fear and the grunts of the drugged male slave as he raped the other girl. Her steel cuffs scraped and abraded her belly, but she was still luckier … at least so far. She had overheard the two men talk, heard the woman call her 'mule' and the one man, Pete was willing to rape her, although he seemed somewhat reluctant. The other man, George, didn't like the situation he was in, and was looking for an out. She didn't know if he could or would help her, she was tied pretty tightly…
'Can I apperate?' she wondered. Normally, you had to know two things (assuming you had the power to cover the distance required), the starting and ending points for safe apparition. Blind apparition risked her materializing somewhere dangerous, like midair or the middle of a river or the ocean, but also splinching, the appearance of different body parts in different locations – a foot here, an arm there. While on Earth splinching was repairable by specialists, here those specialists weren't available. Also complicating the matter was the amount of steel she was wearing, which inhibited her magic somewhat, and the fact that she didn't know where on the planet she was. She thought she was still somewhere near Riverside, but she thought she remembered a boat ride, which could put her just about anywhere.
'Second problem – I have no wand, and third, I'm a collared slave girl,' she thought. 'I don't even know who my registered owner is,' she added to herself. 'Fourth problem, even if I do escape, my collar has a tracking circuit, so my owner, whoever he or she is, can find me easily. Fifth, I'm kept bound, so I couldn't swim if I needed to. Being a slave girl sucks…' she thought with a snort.
"That's the idea, keep your spirits up, girl," George said softly. She whimpered, and he patted her knee as another slave was put on to be raped.
"You coming, George?" Pete asked as they were loading the wagon.
"Yeah, give me a minute," he replied. He bent down, tying his boot and saying quietly to the two mule slaves still hanging by their wrists from the fence. "I don't know what I can do, if anything, but several of us don't like this research." The two girls whimpered softly, "If it comes to buying you versus slitting your throats, I'll try to buy you girls. I'll work on the other guys tonight. You've got a few more days of this. Okay?" Yuki whimpered softly once, followed by the other girl. She heard the rustle of his clothing as he left.
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Sunday, December 8, 2002: 22:00 (GMT)
Fifthday, 27 Primus, 163, 09:40 (WFT +1)
Windfall, High Town, Cam's quarters:
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"Coming!" Cam called to the knock on the door, and she looked through the peephole. Two women stood there, and she opened the door. "Hello, mistresses …" she started.
"Quick, inside, before someone sees us," the elder woman said. "I'm Larisa, this is Nadia."
"Oh, yes, please come in, mistresses," Cam said as she stepped away from the door. "Why are you concerned about people seeing you, mistresses?"
"This is the slave section of town," Nadia said. "Free women aren't supposed to go here, we had to sneak around."
"I see…" Cam replied; closing and locking the door and turning. "May I offer mistresses refreshment?"
"Tea, please, and you don't have to use the 'mistresses' title with us. In public, we'll use the 'mistress' and 'slave' speech, but here in private we don't have to. My Piotr gave us a quick briefing," Larisa said, settling herself in a chair while Nadia took another. "We are Russian, and he said you were an undercover American."
"What else?" Cam asked, arranging the tea service on a platter. She brought it out from the kitchen and set it on a low table, pouring cups.
"Not nearly as much as he knows, of course," Nadia replied, passing a cup to her mother. "I am to be your aide, your go-and-fetch girl, and as a free female, I will have more authority than a slave girl in that position. Larisa will be your assistant; with signing authority and your tutor in politics, as you are not Russian you will need those lessons." She smiled slightly, "Piotr also mentioned that some other undercover slaves were to be present, you would know who they were, but I was to try to determine them, and also to develop my own network."
("You know, I've heard it said, but I never really believed it. Russians really are born to conspiracy,") Cam said in Russian. ("That's a compliment, by the way.")
("And taken as such,") Larisa replied. ("You have an excellent St. Petersburg accent. Very high class. Where did you learn it?")
("Monterey language school, with the US Marines,") Cam replied. ("Force Recon. Sneak 'n' peek, hunt 'n' shoot.")
("You're Spetsnaz!") Nadia said excitedly. ("I always wanted to do that!")
("I think they're starting up Special Forces and Intelligence training on Corfu, but first you'd need to get through Imperial Army training, then the Imperial Marines before going into those specialties. My own training was brutal; they had a high washout rate.") Cam said, taking a sip of tea.
("Oh, my child…") Larisa said softly.
("Who is almost of age, here at least,") Nadia replied. ("Piotr mentioned that you would need to do some housecleaning at the Ministry, which is why he gave us an organizational chart, and we've done some thinking on that. Tomorrow is the first of Secundus, and Firsday, so what we were thinking…")
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Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 04:00 (GMT)
Firsday, 1 Secundus, 163, 08:54 (WFT +1)
Windfall, High Town, Commerce Ministry:
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Cam waited to go through the slave entrance in the deep tunnels below High Town. The line crept forward, as two guards were more interested in discussing the news (the Lieutenant Governor had been killed along with two other Terrans, a dark haired slave girl had been recorded there at the time and was wanted for questioning), while one of the four slept and the last read the local paper while drinking tea. Finally, she bent at the waist and stepped forward into the low entrance, a wooden beam swung into place under her neck, confining her, while she waited for one of the guards to pay attention to her. Finally the reader put his paper down and eyed her, "I don't know you."
"I am to start in the Minister's office today, master," she replied as she semi-crouched in the low tunnel entrance. "My number is 81845, master," she added as the beam under her chin forced her to look up at him. "I should be on your list."
He idly reached for a sheet, examined it; then grunted. "So you are. What's in your bag, and do you know where the office is?"
"Yes, master, and it is information for the Minister."
He kicked the release, "Well, go on with you, then. Next?"
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)
Hogwarts, 5th year Potions:
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The bell rang and Professor Snape automatically said "Settle down," to the already silent, attentive class. "Today is your midterm examination, you have done this before. If you have not already, place your mobile in the box, you will have one hour to complete the written examination with ink and quill I supply. At eight forty-five you will turn in your papers, complete or not, and draw a potion from the bowl, which you will then brew, correctly, using only your notes, in the remaining hour." He turned over an hourglass. "Begin."
"Good luck in math exam, guys," Arthur said as he headed off to his second-year students after the potions exam.
"Prat," Charlie called.
"Hey, we have to grade them, y'know," Mattie replied.
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Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 08:00 (GMT)
Firsday, 1 Secundus, 163, 14:54 (WFT +1)
Windfall, High Town, Commerce Ministry:
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Saas'n strolled into his outer office on the top floor of his ministry, tossing his binder to one of his slaves and ignoring the others. Already thinking of what he needed to do, he pulled up short as a blonde slave asked, "May I help you, master?"
"What are you doing behind my desk, girl? Get out, and report for punishment!"
"I can't do that, master," she replied. "You must be previous Minister Saas'n. If I did so, I would be disobedient to my mistress, Governor Sullivan. She directed me to take over this ministry and clean it up; I have already had the Security Ministry arrest several senior subordinates for corruption." She paused, "Looking over the books, I think we can add you to that list. Do you have a speaker-at-law?"
"But … but … I am Minister! I am of House Baasht!"
"Then perhaps House Baasht will assist in covering your legal expenses, master," she said, closing a binder. "The Finance Ministry will be forwarding an independent audit, I will ask them to send a copy to your speaker-at-law, so you may properly prepare your legal defense." She looked to the side, "Ah, please go with these two masters. Your personal property will be sent to your home. Good day, master."
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Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)
Terran system, L-1 station, 1 g Holiday Inn™:
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Edward filled his plate from the breakfast buffet and returned to his table, smiling and giving a courteous nod to the waitress who had refilled his water glass in his brief absence. He sat, polishing his silverware before cutting and savoring his first bite of melon. He did enjoy this station, even if it were on the nominal reason of 'reacclimating' to one gee, one reason was the absolutely fresh food, picked only minutes before. He had taken a tour and seen the gardens here, and had been impressed with them and their animal husbandry.
'I certainly hope the Martian farms turn out as well,' he thought. Indeed, there were separate pressure domes built just for the gardens, optimized for agriculture with a higher CO2 and moisture content in their atmospheres. That had produced the requirement for greater automation and for those workers to wear breath masks for supplemental oxygen; however those had been fairly easy to accomplish. He opened his mostly-complete report, turning to the Mars planetary section, and noting, yes, he had mentioned their plans for building specialized greenhouses for particular crops.
He munched a bit more, finding the report on LSB Engineering, and preparing to annotate it. They had emailed him their report on their drone and a copy of its various logs, which he found most interesting. Their target had been Tau Ceti, a G8v star 11.9 light years away. Their drone had dropped five AU 'south' and ten 'out' of the Sol system's ecliptic. This had been done for navigational checks; also to avoid the asteroid belt and the system warp limit. It had then engaged its FTL drive and arrived without incident in a comparative point in the target system in a little under fifteen minutes, giving a net speed of .793 light years a minute, or 47.6 light years an hour, much faster than any ship he knew of. Taking the time for additional navigational checks and passive sensor scans, it had then reversed its course, arriving back in Mars' orbit within three hours.
"Most interesting indeed," he murmured, checking their math. "Perhaps a trip to another star for verification would prove educational. An unoccupied system such as a red dwarf, perhaps. I am concerned with the acceleration figures, although as it stands it could provide a useful drive system for a missile. It does need more testing, especially with a live crew on board. I would also like to know what the emission signature is."
Turning the page, he considered the yards in Archimedes and Copernicus craters…
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Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 08:45 (GMT)
Luna, Copernicus shipyard, bay 37:
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"Here we are, bay 37," Don said to the two young women as he ushered them into his office. "I'll introduce you to your floor bosses in a minute, but before I do, there are a couple things I want to say." He sat behind his desk, pointing at the two chairs before it. "I've been working in shipyards, man and boy, since before I was legal. At Bath Iron Works, I've built destroyers and cruisers, at Newport News, I built submarines and carriers, and let me tell you, riding the flight deck of a carrier that's surfing the waves of a Force Eight blow is something else."
He shook himself; then said, "I ain't no feel-good, politically correct HR type. You're both young women, company policy is that you get knocked up; you get shipped home, no ifs-ands-or buts about it. The bay outside that door is tunneled under two hundred meters of lunar rock, but we ain't taking chances. You saw the docs about that?"
"Yes, sir, that's handled," Tara said.
"Good. I'm Don, not 'sir'. I get my hands dirty, even if it's on a keyboard instead of a welding torch nowadays. Second point is this: Safety. My shops got a triple-A safety rating and zero accident rate because I'm an asshole about it, and so are my guys. You got the equipment, you wear it, you got questions, there ain't no stupid questions. Lurch or Knife can't answer them, you come to me. Every one of us qualifies for safety bonuses, and that ain't chicken feed. You two ain't gonna blow that for us. Capish?"
"Yes, Don," Mara said, adding, "Knife?"
"Full blooded Sioux warrior, 'cording to the old traditions of his tribe. You last long enough, you'll get a name, gotta pay your dues first. Every single one of us started where you are, cuttin' steel. Any other questions?" He waited, then said, "Come on, I'll introduce ya."
"'Kay, this here's the bay floor. You see that yellow 'n' black stripe line? That's the safety line. You step over that line, you are actively wearin' your safety gear. That's hard hat, safety glasses, an' hearin' protection at a minimum. Take a look at the guys, you'll see."
The two girls looked out, on the left were railroad stake cars with steel plates waiting to be worked, recessed in the concrete floor, as were two large skips, one labeled 'Al only' and the other 'Fe only'. One stake car was empty, its steel distributed to various workstations, at which steel plates were being cut, shaped and welded. Two of the workstations had slabs of steel on end, with silvery aluminum templates attached, but no workers assigned.
"Don…" a very deep voice resonated behind them, and Mara and Tara turned; then looked up. And up. A very tall man with a graveyard pallor and emaciated frame regarded them in silence.
"Lurch isn't usually this talkative," another man said, and the two girls snapped around. They hadn't heard either man approach; this one was trimming his nails with an absurdly long knife. "I'm Knife. You (he pointed at Tara) are with me. For now, your name is Grass. You (he pointed at Mara) are with Lurch, your name is … "
"Meadow," Lurch rumbled. "Gear. Come."
"These are personnel modules," Knife said. "Eventually they'll be installed on either warships or civilian ships, but we build to mil-spec." He picked up a stapled diagram, "We're going to be building hundreds, if not thousands of these, which get lifted to the orbital yards. These are one of the first steps in the assembly of those ships. Here's what it's going to look like, you can see a completed one on that railroad car. Go take a look later. For now, looking from the interior passageway outboard, we've got two twin cabins on two decks. There is a life pod on the right side, this entire module will be docked into the ship's frame and connected by other crews."
'Grass' and 'Meadow' nodded, 'Meadow' asking, "Why is there that aluminum cover on them?"
"Protection," 'Lurch' said. 'Knife' expanded "You've seen modular homes and trailers on the roads, we use aluminum, which we can recycle easily as opposed to stretch film or plastics, which we can't. This way, we can simply park them on the surface or in orbit and they can temperature – stabilize there. Also serves as protection against micro-meteorites. Same as that gold foil NASA uses." He clapped his hands, "Okay, you're both checked out on arc machines?"
'Grass' raised her hand, "I prefer oxy, please."
'Knife' grunted. "'Kay. We'll get your sister set up on station 'B' and you on 'D'."
"Oh, my knots have knots," Mara said in the shower. "I never thought I could get this dirty, either."
"Bring a bandana as a sweat rag and a couple four-liter bottles of cold water tomorrow," another girl said. "You'll sweat it off, but you're now officially a member of the union." Tara made a questioning sound, "Orbital shipfitter's union. I have to say that Wayne may be filthy rich and the Queen, but she keeps an eye out for her people. You follow her safety rules and the union's, you'll work hard but you'll also make good money and good bennies." The shower shut off, "Another thing. Tomorrow bring a second duffle bag with another complete change of clothes, including underwear. You'll leave that in your locker." She moved to the door of the locker room, toweling off. "Personally, I'm just as glad there are so many guys here. They don't give a damn about makeup."
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 13:06 (GMT)
Hogwarts, 2nd year History class:
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"Very well," Professor Lupin said, closing the folder with the attendance. "We've done these examinations before, you know how it goes. Place your mobile in the box going about, I'm supplying the quills and parchment, and the subject is what we've been covering, the fifteenth century. 1401 through 1500." There was the expected groan, and he smiled and picked up some photocopied sheets. "Pass these back, please."
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Thursday, December 12, 2002: 08:57 (GMT)
Terra, London, Holiday Inn:
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"'Ere y' go, guv, the Holiday Inn," the driver of the 'black cab' said. "Be twelve and thirty."
"Keep it," Edward said, handing over a twenty pound note, and the driver tipped his head as he helped get his kit out of the boot. He had wondered, now he could ask. "'Par'me, guv, but what is that you're wearin'?"
"It's a skinsuit, a space suit," Edward replied. "I started out at the L-1 station, transferring to GEO, then to LEO and down to the airport. There are various … plumbing … connections I'll need to remove once I'm in the hotel room."
"Ah."
"Besides, I really want a shower."
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Friday, December 13, 2002: 06:47 (GMT)
Fourthday, 4 Secundus, 163, 25:00 (WFT +1)
Windfall, coastal road, north livestock area:
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"Dr. Tannenbaum, where are the mule slaves?" George asked, looking up from the slave he was working on as she walked through the lab.
"I had them sent off for Enhancement," she replied. "That should improve their low value, and then I'll sell them off. I put in a claim for title with Slave Control for them, as their recorded owner was Yuki Fukuda, who's vanished. She's a suspect in the Castellano murder; apparently she owned the slaves, maybe she's hiding among them." She looked at her assistant, "You interested in a mule slave, Brenner?"
George carefully controlled himself, "Yes, I could use one or two around the apartment. Other guys were thinking the same thing."
The doctor thought about it, "Enhancement will cost two hundred grams per. I'll sell each one for four hundred grams, plus the usual taxes and so forth."
George did the simple math, 'Forty eight bucks per girl?' then said, "Done."
"I'll have her chained outside your apartment, Brenner. For now, get the fertilized eggs out and into the sequencer. Once all the slaves have been done, we're going to return them to their rightful owner while we play with their DNA."
"Hear that, girl?" he asked the slave that was strapped down to his table, her slave belt unlocked. She whimpered and pulled at her leather straps.
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Friday, December 13, 2002: 12:10 (GMT)
Hogwarts, Slytherin table:
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"Oh, man, I am glad those are over with," Connie Koslowski said. "Only exam left is my sculpture class, and I've got that nailed."
"Lucky you," Mattie said. "We have to have the graded exams turned in by noon Sunday, which means we work on them while you lot are on the Express going back to London." She took a gulp of coffee, "Damn, I wish we had a scanning machine, but no, the Ministry called it 'muggle foolishness'.
"Idiots."
"The Ministry? No arguments here," Professor Sinestra said as she walked by. "Miss Bones, Miss Tonks, I would ask a favor. Emma will be riding the train with her mates; could you keep an eye out for her?"
"Sure," Sprink replied, and Ami nodded.
"Good," Aurora said with a relieved smile. "I don't want to be the hovering, overprotective type of mum, but I just can't get all the grading done in time to ride with her, and Edward will meet her at the station."
"No worries," Ami said. "We'll get our favorite Huffies to keep an eye out too."
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Friday, December 13, 2002: 18:47 (GMT)
Fifthday, 5 Secundus, 163, 08:00 (WFT +1)
Windfall, north livestock area, 'free' quarters:
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"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," George called to the knocks on his apartment's door. He undid the locks, and saw two delivery slaves standing there, a kneeling, hooded slave between them. Their faces were masks as one offered a clipboard, "The slave you've purchased, master. Please sign for her."
"I did it to keep her throat from being slit," he said as he scanned the form and signed it.
"Yes, master," the other girl said as she offered a small bag. "The slave's control and programming chips, and the keys to your slave, master. Enjoy your new slave." She gently kicked the kneeling slave's ankle, "Head to the ground and submit to your new owner, slave." The slave whimpered and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the tiled floor as the two left.
George Brenner looked down at his new slave. She was a small girl with somewhat oversize breasts for her frame, with straight black hair that showed around her hood and the lights of her collar. The black ring of a leash circled her neck, slanting forward from her collarbone as the chain pooled between her spread legs. On her back between and below her cuffed arms, he could see the bloody tracks of a recent whipping, and on her left thigh, fresh penalty brands. The bells and rings attached to her wrist and ankle shackles moved and rang as she panted, waiting for his command.
"Stand up, girl, I'm not going to bite," he said, reaching down and pulling her up by the shoulder. "Let's get you in and clean off that blood. God knows your sweating isn't helping, it must sting like hell." He shook his head, "I never thought I'd own a slave when I left Alabama," and saw the girl stumble in surprise. "Inside girl. We need to do some quick talking before I leave for another day of perverted science."
She was, or looked Asian, he decided as he tossed the hood and blindfold pads aside. "Girl, I'm going to leave that gag on for now, because this is going to be painful. However, I have to clean and put antibiotics on those whip marks, front and back." She whimpered once, regarding him, her new owner, then stood, her sandaled feet making a slapping sound on the tile floor, and moved to a piece of equipment George hadn't figured out. She leaned down, attaching the outer rings of her ankle shackles to snaps, then reaching up to do the same to her wrists. She then motioned 'up' with her right index finger, and George said "Ah. I wondered about that thing." He moved to the wall and examined it, then used a small crank to take up most of the slack in the steel rope. She regarded him from between her arms, then whimpered once and pointed up again. "Pull you up?" and she whimpered once and nodded.
"That would make treatment easier," he agreed, and gave the crank another couple turns, so she was hanging, her toes barely off the floor. "You okay?" and she whimpered once, nodding. He arranged her hair, awkwardly tucking it through the head-straps of her gag. "Sorry, but this is going to hurt," he said as he started to clean her injuries and she squealed in pain.
George looked at the clock, "I have got to get to work. I'll let you down and …" she whimpered twice, shaking her head. "It's going to be late tonight when I get back; I work past twenty-five most nights," he said. "You sure you don't want me to…" She shook her head, double-whimpered again, and waved her fingers at the door. "Okay. I'll at least try to keep you cool. Let me arrange a fan for you."
At work, George nodded at Paul, taking the mug of tea his friend handed him, and wishing for the millionth time it was coffee. They looked around, and Paul said, "I got my slave earlier this morning," he said quietly. "Someone beat her bloody."
"Your slave girl?" John Rogers asked quietly. "Yeah, mine too. Same with Ralph and the other two guys. We're at least saving their lives, guys; although I don't know what we're gonna do with them when we go back to Earth."
"I was thinking about that," Paul said. "I was thinking they could use us here, either in one of the sub-colonies, or in the hospital at Riverside. Let's face it, the only thing keeping us from having 'MD' behind our names is sitting the boards, this qualifies as our internship. We can free our girls here and …"
"And we wouldn't have to deal with Tannenbaum and her perverted science," John said. "Finish out our contract here and cash out our return tickets."
"Sounds like a plan," George agreed. "For now, we got DNA to hack."
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Saturday, December 14, 2002: 06:24 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Gryffindor table:
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"Hey, you're up early," Arthur told his sister Julie as he leaned over her seat at her house table.
"Well, I just have the elective exams today, and I'm finished." She scooted aside, then looked at her older brother as she cast a privacy charm, "You need to rest; you look tired."
"Lucky you," he replied. "I've got to grade the exams and turn them in to the Headmistress before I can leave." He changed the subject, "I got an email from Elena; she went up to the Nevis to send it. They're running a few days behind on Tosul, so they probably won't make it back to meet us in London; she's guesstimating the nineteenth or twentieth. On the other hand, we'll have ownership of a small shipbuilder and all the equipment necessary to build what we need."
"So we'll meet them in Gotham, then. What else?"
"Dad really, really needs to decompress. Elena's doing what she can; she's his aide, which is good. They bought some extra equipment, which the Nevis will bring home and we can install somewhere like Copernicus or Archimedes. She's also got some shopping done, and they've picked up a bunch of those 'disposable' slaves, forty or so. The witch on the Nevis tested them with her wand …"
"Blindfolded of course."
"Of course, and she wrote down the collar numbers. Anyway, five of those forty got sparks, which is twelve and a half percent."
Julie blinked, "That's … high."
"You're right, and for now, they've been transferred into our staffing guild there, so they can work in our offices there while we decide what to do with them. Anyway, that and getting that manufacturing equipment, missile designs, that kind of thing is what's eating up time." He sipped a glass of orange juice. "Elena also said she'd like to go off to Corfu after the first, she wants to go through Basic and get formally commissioned as an officer. She mentioned Special Ops, which Mom is going to freak over."
"Oh, yeah. Other than that, how is she?"
"She seemed okay in her email, I guess she's worked her way through her problem."
"Good. You said you're going to be a day late."
"Yeah, I need to pick up some stuff in New York. There's a jeweler from London that's meeting me in New York, they've worked up some samples of the Imperial Crown Jewels. Paste, so not the real thing, but I'll bring them with me to Gotham. By the way, we're being met by one of the Gotham people's 'boys' at the airport, a favor to Mattie." He expanded on that with a frown at his sister's raised eyebrow, "The Penguin, Cobblepot. Major underworld boss, he's sending his 'boys' for our security. He's apparently got a 'deal' with Mattie. I'm not happy about it, but with the family security and all …" He shrugged. "Anyway, slight change of plans. I'm meeting Connie Koslowski and her mom at LaGuardia and staying with Steve at a midtown hotel the night of the fifteenth. I meet the jeweler Monday the sixteenth; then we go on to Gotham and Mattie's house."
"Okay, but how do you know London jewelers?"
"Two reasons, Steve picked up a ring for Crystal, and Professor Snape went there to get one for Bella." His sister's eyes were wide, and she was trying to stifle a squeal. "Keep it quiet, all right? Neither of them know." Julie nodded rapidly and bit her knuckle.
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Saturday, December 14, 2002: 07:47 (GMT)
Fifthday, 5 Secundus, 163, 22:00 (WFT +1)
Windfall, north livestock area, 'free' quarters:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Yuki looked up as the door lock rattled, and her new owner entered. He latched the door, coming over to her and asking, "How are you, girl?"
She whimpered once, pointing with her chin to the suction station and twisting her pelvis as she hung from her wrists. He grunted, "Let me take a look at you before I let you down." He carefully did a professional examination, adding, "I brought a legal pad with me, I want you to tell me what hurts and what doesn't." She whimpered again as he said, "You're looking better, the cuts are starting to heal over, but you're still going to have scarring. You get any rest?"
She whimpered once, spreading her fingers, and he moved to the crank, releasing her so she dropped down to kneel. He released her wrists, "Go suction, I've got some food for you, and I'm going to put more antibiotics and an analgesic on you. Why did they whip you, girl?"
She shrugged, tapping her collar; then pointing at him. "Go on, suction," he replied.
He regarded the girl, his slave girl, as she knelt and finished writing, then handed him the legal pad. He sat back, reading it over, then looked at her over his glasses, "Girl, I get the definite sense that you're a Terran. Are you?" She reluctantly whimpered once, and he passed the pad back. "Name and hometown, please."
Yuki Fukuda, Tokyo, she wrote.
He passed the pad back, "You know they're looking for you about Castellano's murder. They want to question you."
Master, I was with you for the last several days, before that chained in coffle. Where are we, master?
"As far as I can determine, about three hundred miles north of Riverside. When were you sold?"
22 Primus, I think, master. You know 'questioning' means torture to a slave. What day is it?
"And Castellano was murdered the twenty-seventh of Primus. Today's the fifth of Secundus, so you've been chained as a slave for two weeks. There's no way you shot Castellano and those two other guys, unless you can be in two places at once."
Except that I'm a slave, master. They have a suspect, all they need to do is arrest her and close the case, and she'll be publicly tortured to death for the killing of three free persons. It doesn't matter that she's innocent; she's a slave. She paused; then wrote, Master, I am a slave. I have no rights. I am an animal that dared to attack and kill free persons.
"Except you didn't do it." She whimpered twice and regarded her new owner. "Well, that changes things. I was thinking about staying here as a colonist, and freeing you, but if I do that, I can't protect you, and you'll be …" She drew a finger across her throat, and he nodded. "If I keep you as my slave, they'll at least have to get my permission to do anything." She nodded; then shifted, extending and crossing her wrists to him. He thought for a moment, then reached forward and clasped her wrists in one of his hands, "I accept you as my slave." She whimpered once and sagged in relief.
"Okay, you're not doing anything but resting until that whipping is healed up," he said. "That includes wearing clothing, cleaning, anything like that. Did you have any problems today?"
Boredom, master, she wrote.
"Well, nobody's died of that yet. Keeping you like that means there's no contamination of the wounds, but that also means there's no snuggling, and I'm not raping you. I still don't like the way that was done. No, any sex you're going to initiate."
You're going to make your girl work at it, aren't you? She drew a little smiley face. I want you now, master, but I agree that would be painful. If you can wait, so can I. She stood, leaned forward to kiss him; and then walked over to shackle herself for the night.
George regarded his girl. He had stopped by the library on the way home and picked up a copy of Slave Ownership for Beginners. Like any good researcher, he had made extensive notes before stopping by the local supply and picking up several things. He had changed her bindings to make things more comfortable for her, including support for her shoulders so she could breathe more easily. He had restored the blindfold and hood, and the feeding gag allowed him to slide various antibiotics and rapid healing drugs down her feeding tube. In addition, he had given her a tranquilizer and a sleeping aid, only half of the recommended dose because she was such a small girl. Now, she slept deeply. She had chained herself with her arms and legs stretched wide, all he had done was add a couple hooks that went under her armpits and supported her shoulders on the bar, relieving pressure on her diaphragm. He anticipated no more than a week for her to heal; he was getting close to his contract end, and needed to decide how to handle their future.
'Be realistic, George,' he told himself. 'Pete may have put it more crudely, but Mama, God rest her soul, wanted you to find yourself a nice girl and settle down. Well, Yuki IS a nice girl, except you've bought her, damn it.'
'Yes, you've bought her, a slave. What would have happened to her if you hadn't?' His other side argued back. 'There's a good likelihood she'd be dead now. So what if she's sterile? Didn't cousin what's-her-name have her tubes tied? You're doing the right thing, even if she's forced into crossing her wrists to you. Once we have that threat eliminated, you can offer her freedom.'
'Except she's not in a common collar,' the first side argued. 'You'll need to look up what the yellow-green-red lights mean, but it's not going to be an easy thing. Furthermore, she's Enhanced, so she's going to be wearing a collar for the rest of her life.'
'One step at a time, one step at a time. First we get away from Tannenbaum, free and clear, with all our paperwork and equipment she's holding. We can stop by Riverside, see if we can get in to see the Governor and brief her in on what Tannenbaum is doing, and prove that Yuki couldn't have killed Castellano.'
'And then, George?' he asked himself.
'We play things by ear,' he replied. 'If we can free Yuki with the Governor's assistance, or even Wayne's, great. If not …' he paused. 'If not, we see what Yuki wants to do.'
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 06:32 (GMT)
Terra, Hogsmeade station:
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Aurora Sinestra watched anxiously as the Express pulled out of the station; then dialed her mobile. "Edward? The train just left, you'll be there?" She nodded, then exhaled, "Yes, love you too. See you tonight or tomorrow." With a little sigh, she flipped the mobile closed, as Hagrid put a hand on her shoulder. "Y' done wh' y' can, 'rora. 'Y g' people tae watch oot f' her on th' train, an' Ed'rd w' be meetin' her train." He gently squeezed her shoulder, "Nae, c' inside 'oot 'o th' snow an' hae a nice hot cuppa."
"I just never thought being a parent could be so HARD," she replied as she reached up to give one of his massive fingers a squeeze. She looked down the track; then sighed. "Yes, let's go have a cuppa with the rest. Maybe the elves still have some sticky buns left."
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 13:44 (GMT)
Terra, London, PRC embassy:
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The comrade general looked at his reliable sergeants, ("Comrades, we have received orders from Beijing regarding the school train from Hogwarts. Our MSS comrades will be inside performing a special operation, we are to prevent outside interference. However, I feel you must know the political situation behind the unofficial modifications to those orders…")
("Comrades,") Comrade Major Chai said to the team she would lead, ("We have special orders from the Politburo, and I have a … modification of those orders.")
("Comrade,") Won gestured at the small private room of one of London's innumerable Chinese restaurants. ("We have received those orders from Comrade Dai. What modification do you speak of?")
Chai took a breath; then said, ("Comrades, have you considered the political results of Comrade Dai's orders? We serve the people, yes, but perhaps it would be most beneficial to the people, not only of the People's Republic, but of the world, to be … not entirely successful.")
There was a ringing silence as they looked at each other, then Won said, ("Comrades, perhaps it would be best if we spoke plainly. Comrade Dai's orders require us to act as terrorists, killing innocent civilians, and to do so in a most gruesome and horrifying way. Furthermore … ")
("Furthermore, comrade, we are to do so disguised as failed terrorists,") Mai put in. She sighed, scrubbed her face, ("Comrades, this plan of Comrade Dai's is … suboptimal. If I am to die for the People's Republic, it will be in the uniform of the People's Republic, not disguised. Make no mistake, comrades, the British will fight back, they are not sheep going willingly to the slaughter. They fight for their families, their children, as we would. This is a stain on our honor and that of the People's Republic.")
("Then perhaps, comrades, we can modify the orders to satisfy the letter of Comrade Dai's orders by wearing the black cloaks specified, underneath which we wear the uniform of the People's Republic,") Won said. ("Comrades, I have no particular desire to murder innocents. I propose that if we meet stiff resistance, we …")
("Perform a 'tactical withdrawal'?" (Chai finger-quoted.) "After all, comrades, if we are outnumbered and outgunned, our orders say nothing about fighting to the death.")
("And if we are captured, comrades?")
("We are carrying out the orders of our lawful superiors,") Chai replied. ("Each of us will have a copy on us. Still, speaking personally, I wish to be able to retain my honor, and will be carefully choosing the spells and curses I use,") she added, looking each of her people in the eye. Each of them returned her gaze before nodding. ("Excellent. Comrades, I will meet you at Kings Cross station.")
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 17:53 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:
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"There! Done! Finished!" Arthur said, throwing down his red quill and marking the final grade on the cover sheet. He looked over at the other instructors, asking, "How do you do them so quickly?"
"You do not correct them as homework, you simply mark them correct or not," Pomona replied. "That allows you to double-check the marks. In the time you've taken to do one class, I've done four. Cho did the same thing when she first started teaching."
"I have done three, however I require fortification from the absurdity with strong tea," Severus added. "Especially in the younger years' essays."
"I knew I shouldn't have required essay questions," Mattie said. "I've got … three more to do; then we can be off. Arthur, you want to call Crystal and Steve? Cindy's gone ahead with our presents; I just want to change out of the school uniform. Other than that, I'm packed and ready for Gatwick. We can meet them there, then floo to LaGuardia ."
"How are we getting to Windfall?" Pomona asked.
"I'm borrowing a passenger module from Uncle Kal; we can meet on … when? Friday? Saturday?" she replied. "I'd prefer Friday, gives an extra day to sort things out."
"Hopefully Dad and Elena will be back by then, we can get a quick briefing before we go," Arthur said. "I hate to miss Christmas, but …"
"Duty calls," Mattie agreed. "If Friday is good with everyone, we can pick up Madame Laval in New Orleans and then meet everyone here … where? Gatwick?"
"Why not meet at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park; if Superman is going to be flying us?" Pomona proposed.
"Showoff," Severus replied. "You just want to be seen with him."
"And I'm done," Mattie said, completing her cover sheet with grades. She bundled them together with a sticking charm, then walked up to the head of the table, where Minerva sat.
Accepting them, Minerva leafed through them; then set them in a pile. "Happy Christmas, and to you also, Mr. Morton. Have a safe journey."
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 19:24 (GMT)
Terra, London, Kings Cross station:
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Comrade Major Chai nodded as she did a quick head count of her people outside the station. Every one of them wore their formal uniform, bracing to attention as she inspected them. A few meters away, Comrade General Won also inspected his troops while the civilians watched curiously. She pulled her black robes on, her white mask in an outer pocket (and visible), and then as a last step pulled on her white uniform gloves, addressing them. ("Come, comrades, the train will arrive shortly. Let us go be terrorists.")
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 19:30 (GMT)
Terra, London, Kings Cross station, platform 9 ¾ :
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Comrade Major Chai and her team of false Death Eaters apparated into the concealed train platform, however it did not go as planned. Instead of being in separate locations, they were forced into one location by anti-apparition wards, watched over by magenta-cloaked aurors and a number of others, all with wands out and ready. Chai smiled to herself, even as she felt additional wards go up, powerful ones. Yes, they were well and truly trapped, and she shouted a command in Mandarin: ("Discard black cloaks! We fight as soldiers of the People's Republic!")
An old man with a peg leg and missing a chunk from his nose stumped forward. "I'm Moody, Alastair Moody. State yer business."
Chai had heard of this one, indeed a fearsome warrior. She bowed in respect, and he nodded. "I am Comrade Major Chai, of the Ministry of State Security of the People's Republic of China. With respect, Comrade Moody, our orders from Beijing are to capture or kill Wayne, Morton and his siblings, and any others, adult or child, that resist." She waited out the murmurs before adding, "Please step aside, Comrade Moody."
"Thank ye for yer honesty, Chai, but I don't think so."
Chai bowed again, assuming a formal dueling stance, while Moody shook his arms out. "Well, let's get to it, girl."
Comrade General Won marched his troops into position, turning them to face out, backs to the concealing partition. Holding their rifles at the ready, he turned to face a British Army colonel, who saluted. Returning the salute, the Brit asked, "With respect, sir, what are your orders?"
Won eyed him up and down; then said, "My orders, colonel, are to secure this area. We have information that there will be a terrorist incident."
"Yes, sir, we also have that information. We have the situation in hand, and would ask you to dismiss your men." As the colonel spoke, troops of the British Army appeared, holding their rifles at the ready. The colonel added, "I must insist, sir."
"I am afraid, colonel, that…" The general didn't finish, as there was a scream and a curse went through the plaster partition, which puffed into dust. Won spun and shouted, "Shoulder arms!" as curses and hexes started to punch through the partition.
That partition had stood since the building of Kings Cross station over a century ago. It had been designed to conceal the comings and goings of wizarding trains from muggles. It had not been designed to block bludgeoning hexes and the like. As such, it was rapidly coming apart, as were the Chinese troops, who stoically took curses in the back.
"General! If I may suggest, sir, that some of your troops deploy these shields, it should protect them," the colonel suggested. The General nodded, motioning some of his non-coms to do so. "I must admire your troops' discipline," the colonel added.
"We are PLA," the General replied.
"Cease fire! Cease fire! Chai called, conjuring a white towel. She waved that, and Moody bellowed, "Off with it, you bloody lot! Cease fire!" He turned to the trapped Chinese troops, "Out with your hands up, wands pointed up!" Chai and her troops did so, turning over their wands as they were searched and cuffed.
Both General Won and the Colonel turned as the shattered door opened, the Chinese MSS troops marching out. Chai stopped for a moment, asking, "Where is the train?"
"We stopped it in York," Moody said.
"Ah, most prudent," Chai said. "Thank you, Comrade Moody." She bowed, "Comrade General Won."
"Comrade Major Chai," he replied. She moved off, and the Colonel said, "Well, General. What are we to do with you?"
"We cannot request status of Prisoner of War, as we are not at war, nor are we Enemy Combatants," Won started. "Indeed it would be best if we simply returned to the Embassy."
"Except that you are in uniform under arms, General. I appreciate your assistance, and will report the same. Your troops will receive proper medical attention; I think it best that you accept, as guests, Her Majesty's hospitality. Please order your troops to disarm; we shall let the diplomats sort this out."
"I think that best," General Won replied. He turned, "Sergeant!"
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Sunday, December 15, 2002: 14:53 (GMT -5)
Terra, LaGuardia, International floo arrivals:
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"Thank you," Arthur told the TSA agent. "The time zones bother me; I'm still on London time. It's almost eight pm there." He looked around, "There's my friends now." He waved, and his brother and sister waved back at him, while Connie Koslowski and her mother Beth were talking to Mattie; all three drinking coffee. "Ready?" he asked Steve, who was talking with the detail sergeants from the Port Authority and the NYPD.
"Minute," he said, while the various cops stood around, drinking coffee. Arthur took the opportunity to visit the loo and grab a cup of tea for himself, buying one for Crystal. "I owed you one," he said.
"So you do, or did," she replied with a smile.
"Okay, we're ready," Steve said, coming over to them. "Crystal, you and Mattie will be going on to Gotham with Julie and Bill, while Arthur and I go to Manhattan. See you tomorrow."
"Right," she agreed, then walked over to Mattie, Julie and Bill, heading for the domestic floo as the group broke up.
(1) RfQ: Request for Quotation invites suppliers to enter into a bidding process for a set of specifications. In this case it is for a small vehicle, the bidders will enter a design for that vehicle that will match or exceed those specifications. Once several have been received, sample units can be produced and tested in a competitive environment.
(2) 'Slugging' a barrel: Making a metal mold of the exact dimensions of the chamber and barrel opening of an older weapon allows the correct sizing, especially with older military firearms.
(3) Bore sighting: Making certain the barrel is correctly aligned with the sights.
(4) MoA: (Minute of Angle) This refers to the accuracy of the rifle. All test shots (usually five or ten) falling within a three centimeter circle at a hundred meters distance, or one inch at one hundred yards. It's a range measurement; obviously not every hunter is going to get that in the field.